


Adso Tails: Fluffy Stories from the Ridge

by jamiemackenziefraser



Category: Outlander & Related Fandoms, Outlander (TV), Outlander Series - Diana Gabaldon
Genre: Canon Compliant, F/M, Fluff, Humor, Romance, domestic life, feel good, ficlets just posted as chapters, one shots, set loosely during Fiery Cross or A Breath of Snow and Ashes time period but no spoilers
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-10-20
Updated: 2021-03-04
Packaged: 2021-03-08 19:53:39
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 17
Words: 30,656
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27112208
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/jamiemackenziefraser/pseuds/jamiemackenziefraser
Summary: A series of lighthearted ficlets imaging antics of domestic life on the Ridge. Complete with plenty of Claire/Jamie sweetness, fluff, and featuring appearances by our favorite furry Fraser.Each chapter can be read as a stand-alone
Relationships: Claire Beauchamp/Jamie Fraser
Comments: 320
Kudos: 268





	1. Jealousy

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm just about done reading Abosaa, and this is my therapy fluff. Not angst ahead, only short, feel-good stories and my own personal headcannons about what goes on at Fraser's Ridge. Hope you enjoy!

“I think you love Adso more than me,” Jamie complained.

Adso was sat curled on Claire’s chest, purring contentedly. Claire herself was reclined on the settle and petting the sweet bundle of fur.

Meanwhile, Jamie stood in front of the fireplace, arms crossed, eying the kitten with a narrowed blue gaze usually reserved for only the fiercest political and business rivals. 

Claire looked up from Adso with a smirk. “Are you jealous of a cat?” she asked matter-of-factly, with only a hint of smug satisfaction creeping into her tone. 

“Perhaps,” he grumbled, “because it’d usually be me ye’d be snuggling wi' at this hour.” He turned his back, pointedly looking out the window at the sunset.

Claire rolled her eyes at his antics. She lifted Adso off her and set him gently on the floor. Then, she quietly padded over to stand behind Jamie to snake her arms around him.

“Feeling a little neglected?” she asked, pressing a kiss to his shoulder.

“Aye,” he pouted, turning around in her grip so he could gather her in his arms, “what are you going to do about it?”

His eyes sparkled with a challenge. And Claire was never one to back from a challenge. 

“It seems you need a little attention,” she breathed, bringing her lips up to press lightly against his-- just a soft touch, leaving him yearning for more. She rubbed her hands down his strong back, feeling the muscles under the marred skin.

“I think the kitten is less needy than you,” she whispered to him, her lips brushing against his in the slightest as she spoke.

“But you’re mine,” he replied, emphasizing his words by grabbing her waist and pulling her flush against him. He then kissed her hard, effectively ending any notion she had of teasing him further. Claire found herself bent slightly backward, kept from falling only by Jamie's hands splayed across her back. She was just starting to get breathless when-- 

“Uncle, I—“

Jamie and Claire jumped apart as if burned, Claire nearly falling in the process, and both of their heads snapped to see a startled Ian frozen in the door, some papers clutched loosely in his fingers.

“I’m sorry, Auntie, Uncle, I’ll... come back later...” he stuttered, cheeks brightening in an embarrassed blush.

“It’s alright, Ian, come in,” Claire said, a little too breathlessly. She took a step back from Jamie, who had still been gripping her arm tightly, and brushed her hands on her skirts in feigned nonchalance. 

She started to walk toward the boy, but spared one last glance at her husband, who looked incredibly annoyed at the intrusion, as well as her allowing Ian to stay. His eyes were narrowed in frustration and his fingers tapped restlessly against his right leg. She would probably pay for that later.

Jamie stepped up behind her, and gave her bum a light squeeze as he walked forward. She nearly jumped, but maintained composure.

As he passed, he leaned in close to her to whisper in her ear, in a low voice that made her shudder just a little: “ _You shouldha let the boy return later_.”

And with that, nothing more was said, and Jamie stepped in front of Claire, ready to attend to Ian’s business.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks so much for reading! This is my first published fluff piece, so I hope you guys enjoyed. Stay tuned for more chapters!


	2. Endearments

Claire was down by the river, sitting between the large rocks, picking and sorting her herbs. Everything was serene as she tied them into neat bundles before placing them in the basket. It was a pleasant day, not too hot, and she was enjoying the peace and monotony of the work. It was just her and the rush of the water.

Of course, having thought about her enjoyment of the tranquility, it was that moment when she heard a call from beyond the sound of the water. It was indistinct and far away, but nothing too out of the ordinary, so she went back to her work.

But a moment later, it came again. This time she recognized Jamie’s voice.

“Sassenach!” Came Jamie’s call. He wasn’t urgent, she told her heart, which had already started beating faster, but definitely Jamie searching for her. 

“Jamie!” she called back to him.

She looked back down to her work. With nimble fingers, she finished up the last of the batch, tying it off.

A smile came to her face as Jamie called again, “mo ghràdh? Where are you?”

“Over here,” she called as she stood up. She wiped her hands on her skirt and peered over the rocks. Jamie was nowhere in sight. She put her hands on her hips. “Jamie?”

“Mo nighean donn?” Came his questioning call. A moment later, her red-headed Scot emerged into the clearing and caught sight of her. 

He smiled, walking over. “There you are, mo chridhe,” he said happily as he reached her, taking her into his arms and hugging her against him.

She chuckled, hugging back. “Took you long enough. You went through the whole gamut of endearments looking for me.”

He smirked down at her. “You were no’ easy to find, but I have a few more in my sporran,  _ Sorcha _ .”

She laughed, moving her arms to casually drape around his neck. His hands were laid on her hips, thumbs stroking slightly.

“And what if one of your other ‘loves’ were in these woods too? Wouldn’t that get confusing?” she asked playfully.

He leaned close to her, “then tis a good thing I have but one love. There’ll be no confusion on my account.”

Claire was the one who bridged the minuscule space between them as she pressed her smile against his.

“You know, I can’t think of the last time you called me by my real name,” she mused, wrapping his hands around his neck and thumb stroking softly, “Do you not like it?”

He took a step closer, but since he was already pressed against her, it made her step back with him, almost like a dance. He swayed back to the other side, casually moving as they spoke.

“No,” he said, voice a low hum in his chest, “it’s just that everyone else gets to call you by your name.  _ But you’re mine _ .”

As if to prove his point, he leaned down and kissed her again. She opened her eyes to see him looking down at her, soft with affection. She placed a hand on his cheek, feeling a rush of unbelief and gratitude that she was here with him.

“So, why were you looking for me?” she asked.

He shrugged innocently. “I missed you.”

She couldn’t suppress the smile that spread across her lips, and her eyes pricked as if affectionate tears might fall. “You can’t say such sweet things to me, Jamie Fraser,” she told, giving him a quick kiss.

“And why can I no’ say that to my own wife?” He asked, eyebrows raised.

“Because,” she stated, “I’ll never want to leave your side and you’ll get bored of me.”

He laughed at this, pressing his smile down into her neck and then giving her a little kiss. “I will never get bored of ye, Sassenach,” he murmured against the skin.

She laughed again, half because of his words, and half because he nuzzled into a particularly sensitive spot. “It’s settled then. We’ll just have to work by each other’s sides until you change your mind.” 

“Aye,” he pulled back, and smirked down at her with a gleam in his eyes, “but it wasna work I had in mind for this afternoon.”

“Oh it wasn’t?” she leaned down and picked up her basket, sliding it over her arm and taking a few steps in the direction toward home, “you’re wanting to play with Adso, then?”

Jamie caught up with her, looping an arm around her waist so that they walked pressed against each other.

“No,” he said flatly, “guess again.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for reading! I'm on Tumblr too, also @ jamiemackenziefraser, if you ever want to catch up with me on there!


	3. Protector of the Ridge

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Claire is confronted with an unwanted visitor.

Claire and Jamie were getting ready for bed. Claire, clad only in her shift, stood by the window, looking out and enjoying the breeze that swept lightly through her loose curls. Suddenly, she caught sight of a small moving shape right in front of her. 

“Jamie!” she gasped, and jumped away from the window.

Her husband shot up in alarm, grabbing his dirk from the bedside table and clutching it tightly, head whipping in her direction.

She turned her back strode away from the window, arms wrapped around herself as if reeling from a shock. 

“What it is?” Jamie asked, stalking toward the window with that highland warrior posture, ready to defend. When he passed her, he even reached an arm over to keep her safely behind him.

“Spider,” she answered, squeezing her eyes shut in disgust and then opening them to look at Jamie.

His mouth dropped open. He stared at her for a long second in astonishment, brain processing that the Ridge was not, in fact, under attack, and then he burst into laughter. He doubled over in his hilarity, breathless chuckles filling the room, and then straightened, still laughing to himself, to see the spider in question that was crawling languidly across the window.

“Christ, lass,” he laughed, “this wee bugger is what gave ye such a fright?”

“Yes,” she answered indignantly, refusing to look at the window and standing with her arms crossed, “please take care of it.”

She saw out of the corner of her eye that Jamie was reaching toward it, and she quickly shut her eyes, her brain saying “ _ no, no, no _ .” Surely he wouldn’t just grab it.

“Sassenach,” his voice came from across the room, laughter evident as he spoke, “I’ve seen ye cut men open wi’out flinchin’ and touch their insides, and ye cannae even look at this wee creature?”

“You know I hate spiders, Jamie,” she bit back. In fact, he was right. She could handle any number of medical emergencies that would make grown men swoon and she didn’t even bat an eye, but when it came to spiders, she simply couldn’t function. 

Her annoyance at his teasing caused her to turn back toward him, and it was unfortunately the exact wrong moment to look at him.

The bug was clutched between Jamie’s bare fingers, wriggling widely. Claire, too horrified to look away, was forced to watch as he dropped it to the ground, where it started to scurry away. 

Jamie began to lift his boot, but before he could stomp on the bugger, Adso came scampering over and quickly took care of the troublesome bug.

“Adso, my hero,” Claire cooed as he finished his snack. She strode over and gave him two affection pats on the head. Then, she straightened and narrowed her eyes at Jamie. 

“What did I marry you for? 6’4 highland warrior of solid muscle and you don’t even protect me from a spider.”

He gave her a suppressed downturned smile, and reached out toward her with an exaggeratedly Scottish “ _ och _ .” He pulled her resistaning body against him, snuggling her close. “You ken I’d never let those dastardly buggers get ye,” he said with a playfully serious tone, “I’d fight them off wi’ sword and dirk before they could ever get  _ near  _ ye.”

He reached down and scooped her up off the ground and into his arms. She let out a (rather undignified) squeal of surprise as he lifted her, and quickly grabbed onto his neck. 

He looked down at her with lowered eyelids and a smirk. “They wilna get ye up here, Sassenach,” he said affectionately.

She let out a dubious “Mmhmm,” eyebrows still raised. But, she decided, it was time to forgive him. He  _ was  _ going to kill it before Adso stepped in after all. 

“There’s my hero,” she murmured, leaning in to press her lips to his.

He walked them over toward the bed, grinning. “They’ll call me Red Jamie, Spider Slayer,” he teased, a little too smugly for Claire’s taste.

“I think they’ll actually say ‘James Fraser, let’s the cat do his dirty work...’ Maybe Adso should be called ‘Protector if the Ridge’, hmm?” she joked, a triumphant smile spreading over her lips. 

He dropped her on the bed rather unceremoniously, and then leaned over top of her. He narrowed his eyes. “What must I do to prove my worth t’ ye, again, Sassenach?” Those damn blue eyes widened in playful earnestness, “I’d kill 1,000 spiders and lay them at yer feet. Tell me, what must I do?”

Claire couldn’t help the laughter that bubbled up in her chest. She leaned in and pressed her forehead to his.

“I may have a little something in mind...” she said flirtatiously.

He brought his lips close to hers, so close they were almost touching. “Aye? And what’s that?” He breathed, lips brushing hers in the slightest as he spoke.

“Go get Adso a bowl of milk,” she said with a grin.

Jamie groaned and rolled off of her, collapsing onto his back beside her with a frustrated sigh. He turned his head to look at her with a half smile. 

“I’ll be payin’ for this for days, won’t I?” He asked.

Claire smiled at him and scooted further up so she could rest on the pillow. 

“You will. Now off with you, Adso needs his reward.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This was pretty much me projecting my arachnophobia... I just need me a Jamie tbh. 
> 
> I'll have the next chapter up probably in a couple days! Stay tuned!


	4. Accident

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Claire suffers a misadventure... and it's Roger's fault.

Jamie’s blood was coursing in hot frustration at the same time as he buzzed with concern for Claire. He mumbled a less-than-friendly Gaelic curse under his breath at the thought of the stupidity of his son-in-law. He stalked toward the woods in the direction he knew Roger and Claire would be returning. Fergus, his informer, trailed sheepishly behind him, shoulders slumped in anticipation of Jamie’s ire. 

The moment he caught sight of the pair emerging from the woods, his poor wife leaning heavily on their son-in-law and drenched from head to toe, her beautiful brown curls plastered to her shoulders, Jamie broke into a run toward them. 

As he reached them, he glared daggers at Roger, gritting out a quick, angry “get yer hands off her,” at the same time as Claire was saying “Jamie, it’s okay.”

She was soaked and freezing, and her ankle that had been injured was throbbing. She had been leaning on Roger for support on the way back from the river, but at Jamie’s words, the young man quickly stepped away from her, hands raising in a gesture of acquiescence. 

Jamie, ignoring his anger at Roger for a moment, turned to his wife, taking in the sight of her pitiful state. She looked somehow smaller, all her layers clinging to her body and wild hair tamed, and her arms were wrapped around herself in a vain effort to retain some body heat. 

“Are ye alright?” He asked her. 

Jamie shucked off his coat and quickly flipped it to wrap around Claire’s shoulders. He rubbed his hands up and down her arms in an effort to warm her.

“I’m fine, Jamie,” Claire answered with a brave attempt to keep her teeth from chattering and sound nonchalant, “No harm done.” She added the last phrase in a vain attempt to quash some of the wrath that would soon rain down upon Roger. But to no avail. 

He studied her for another long second, brows furrowed, and, deciding that she was still shaking too hard for his liking, Jamie wrapped his arms around her. Claire melted into the warmth of him as if she could soak it up. 

In sharp contrast to his tender actions toward Claire, as he turned his attention toward Roger, he bristled. Claire could feel his body stiffening and soft demeanor changing. 

“Care to explain how this happened?” He said to him, voice icy. His tone was startlingly even, controlled as he always did when addressing issues, but still betrayed his underlying frustration. 

“It was an accident. And I should have been-“ Claire started to come to his defense, but Jamie made a small shushing noise to her, wrapping his arms tighter around her.

“No, Sassenach, I want to hear it from him,” he said.

Roger was standing even further away now, scratching the back of his head and looking very guilty. He shifted back and forth on his toes. Claire mentally rolled her eyes. He wasn’t helping his cause with Jamie. 

“It’s just... I wasn’t looking where I was going. I thought I caught sight of a stag and whirled around and...” Roger trailed off.

Jamie finished the story for him through gritted teeth, “and knocked my wife right into the river. Where she was taken a bit downstream before she managed to fight the current.”

“Aye...” Roger said sheepishly.

This really stoked the fires of Jamie’s anger, and he started to let go of his wife to lunge toward Roger, but Claire stopped him by tightening her arms around his waist in warning. 

“Jamie, it’s alright. I’m fine, really. And Roger’s learned from his mistake. It was half my fault really. I was picking the watercress and wasn’t paying any attention at all.”

Jamie looked down at her, hard face softening. “Ye’re a kind heart to make excuses for the lad,” he said as he brushed a damp strand of hair from her forehead. His brow furrowed a little as he made contact with her chilled skin. 

Turning back to Roger, he narrowed his eyes. “I’ll deal wi’ you later. Right now, I’m goin’ tae take my wife home.”

He promptly turned and scooped Claire up into his arms. She was surprised as he swept her off her feet so abruptly, and had to hastily react and wrap her arms around his neck. As quickly as he had picked her up, he was carrying her back toward the Big House.

“Christ, Sassenach, you’re chilled to the bone,” he commented.

“I wouldn’t recommend an autumn swim in the river,” she joked through chattering teeth.

“I’ll throttle him for being so foolish,” Jamie gritted, mind still fixed on his son-in-law back at the edge of the woods.

“Don’t be too hard on him, Jamie. It was a simple mistake,” Claire said, and nestled her head into the crook of his neck. He radiated heat, and she felt her shaking begin to ease at just his nearness. 

“It wasna just a ‘simple mistake,’” he bit out, but his tone softened when he continued, “I trusted him wi’ the thing I love most in this world, and he himself put you in danger. He  _ hurt  _ you.” 

Claire felt a rush of tenderness overwhelm her slight frustration over his over-protection. She kissed his neck, the closest available skin in this position (and was rewarded with a delightful squirm). She wasn’t entirely sure how to respond, but was certain that further defending Roger now would do no good for him. Before she could open her mouth to acknowledge, Jamie was speaking again.

“How badly is yer ankle injured?” He asked, looking over at her leg. 

She chuckled a little. “Not so bad I can’t walk. Just a little twisted, I think. Should be back to normal in a couple days.”

He tilted his head to smile down at her, looking smug. “And ye’re always telling me to not make injuries worse, so I’ll no’ let you walk on it.”

She huffed as he used her own wisdom against her, but she couldn’t argue with that, and told him so. He seemed to be taking pleasure in being the caretaker-- so long as he didn’t have to stick her with any needles. She had no doubt that he would be very strict in keeping her off it in the next couple days. 

As they neared the house, Jamie caught sigh of Marsali sitting on the porch. Her eyes widened at the sight of Jamie carrying his soaked wife, and quickly stood. Jamie called for her to get the door. 

As they passed, she anxiously asked, “are ye alright, Mother Claire?” 

Claire nodded, giving her a reassuring smile. “Perfectly fine. Just twisted my ankle a bit and Jamie is insisting I stay off of it.” 

“Och aye,” Marsali nodded in agreement. 

With one look from Jamie, she stepped out of the way and allowed him to pass. 

Once inside, Claire relaxed in relief to be out of the biting autumn wind. Jamie, not one to do a job halfway, carried Claire all the way up to their bedroom before setting her down on a chair next to the hearth. 

“I’m going to draw a bath for ye, get ye warm,” he told her, pressing a tender kiss to her forehead. Claire squeezed his arms in gratitude before he turned away. 

Before he left the room, however, Jamie caught sight of Adso sitting on the bed, the kitten’s little grey body curled into a perfect circle. He walked over and scooped him up, pressing him to his chest, rewarded with an instant purr. He then returned to his wife, setting him on her lap like an offering. 

“Adso, You warm her until I get back,” he instructed the cat, who was already settling down despite Claire’s wet skirts. 

He pressed one last brief kiss to his wife’s lips, and then disappeared from the room.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Poor Roger, it was just an accident...  
> No Roger hate is intended, he was just a plot device for protective Jamie. (I also love the recurring gag of Roger never being able to live up to Jamie. They're self aware hahaha.) What are you guys' feelings on Roger? 
> 
> Thank y'all so much for your kudos and comments, they seriously make my day. Much love and stay tuned for the next chapter coming soon!


	5. Waiting Up

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Claire is unsuccessful in waiting up for Jamie.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Basically just sleepy fluff :)

Claire woke up to the sight of Jamie above her, sat on the edge of their bed, watching her with a soft smile on his face. He was hazy in the orange glow of the dying fire, and even hazier with the cloud of sleep still wrapped around Claire, but the strong lines of his face were clear in the dim room, along with the smile that was glittering in his eyes. Even clearer, though, was the calming warmth of his nearness that was as tangible as if he were touching her. 

A sleepy rush of affection welled up inside her. She reached up for him instinctually, her hand barely caressing his face before he caught it and pressed it to his lips. She stirred a little as he did, smiling drowsily. The movement scared Adso, who had been curled at her feet, and he gave a discontented meow before settling back down. 

“Were you watching me sleep?” she murmured to Jamie, amused.

“Aye,” he answered. He fingered a stray lock of hair that had fallen onto her face. “You just looked so bonny, wee and perfect, all curled up in your blanket.” 

He stroked a hand down her body, indeed covered by a plaid where she laid on top of the covers of their bed.

“I tried to wait up for you,” she explained, her words slurring a bit with the veil of sleep. She found it hard to keep her eyes open.

“You didna have to, a nighean,” he said a little wistfully, his hand warm on her side, “it’s nice to come in and see ye sae peaceful in sleep. Like a wee angel.” 

In any other circumstances, Claire would have smacked him for such a comment and teasing him for being creepy and watching her sleep, but she found that in her sleepy fog, his warmth calling to her, she just found his sappy notions endearing. 

She murmured, but sat up anyway. When she reached out for him, he leaned forward so she could hug him. His warmth was just as good as hoped, his body absolutely radiating soft familiarity. She laid her head on his shoulder, nestling in like a child, half asleep again already.

“Not so peaceful without you,” she murmured, relaxed by the solid feeling of him under her hands. She let them slide down the length of his back and then around to rest on his sides. His, in turn, were wandering down her back, large and warm. It was almost enough pressure to be like a massage, and it made Claire melt all the more. 

He made a Scottish “mmm” of understanding. “Well I’m here now.”

She leaned back in his arms to give him a kiss. It was a sweet, sleepy press of the lips, with a lazy kind of relaxation bred from intimacy. 

Feeling satisfied that Jamie was going to stay and more than ready to be bundled up in his arms under the blankets, Claire laid back down. She snuggled into the pillow, breathing in the scent of Jamie that always lingered on the cloth, feeling content. 

“Sassenach... care to move over to your side?” Came Jamie’s amused voice.

She didn’t open her eyes, just snuggled Jamie’s pillow tighter.

“No,” she answered, “I’m comfortable and the pillow smells like you.”

Jamie laughed. “ _I smell like me_ , a leannan.”

“Oh,” she replied slowly, her sleepy brain finding this a most rational argument, “I suppose you’re right.”

“Come now, ye wee fool,” he said affectionately, “I’ll make ye a deal. Scootch over and I’ll warm ye up.”

Jamie, knowing her affinity for snuggling into warmth, especially when she was sleepy, pulled the exact right card to get her into motion. Damn him. 

“Mmm, that would be nice,” she smiled to herself. Without opening her eyes, Claire shifted to the side, giving Jamie just barely enough room to slide into bed. He pulled down the quilt, struggling a bit with getting it out from under his wife without disturbing her, but soon created a sufficient in which Claire could burrow. 

She pressed her body against him, curling into his warmth like a cat, and laid her head on his chest. Sighing with contentment, she lazily stretched her arm to lay across his chest, and then wedged the other one underneath his back.

Jamie started a little, his arm which was wrapped around her jerking. “Och, your hand is like ice,” he exclaimed.

“That’s why I need you to warm me up,” she whispered. Claire was already being tugged back into the lull of sleep.

“Aye... I’ll forgive ye but only because ye’re awfully sweet when ye’re this cuddly,” Jamie said in a low voice.

She would have responded with a quip back, but she was far too cozy and far too sleepy to tease him now. She just snuggled up all the more, the sound of his heartbeat under her ear like a lullaby. The tension of the day was non-existent, wrapped up in him as she was, and the peace in the dark room had a nice weight to it. 

She was home. After so many years parted from him, without this comforting nearness, she would cling to him with everything she had. She didn't even know she was speaking when a tiny "I love you" fell from her lips. 

She missed his chuckle in response, and didn't even stir for the faintest kiss that was pressed to the top of her head. 

As she drifted further into sleep, for real this time, she caught the faint whisper of  _ “I love you, too. Sleep well, mo ghràdh _ .”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Yes, I know that sometimes these turn into clichés, but I'm just gonna embrace it. I mean, who couldn't use a bit of cuddly fluff right now? 
> 
> Thanks as always for reading-- your kudos and comments seriously make my day.


	6. The Whole Hound

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Jamie has a few too many... okay, a lot too many.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Today is National Cat Day in the U.S, so what better way to celebrate than with a new chapter? 
> 
> Also, this one is written in first-person, Claire's point of view.

I had just managed to get the outer layer of my skirts off and was standing in the mirror starting to work on the laces of my corset when the door of the Laird’s chamber flew open and a mass of muscle smashed into the doorframe with a crash. A very drunk Jamie righted himself and closed the door behind him, staggering a few steps more.

When he saw me, he stopped in his tracks, mouth falling open a bit and staring unashamedly. His mouth spread into a wide smile at the sight of me.

“Sassenach!” He greeted me happily, his accent thick from the drink.

I was joyed that he was this exuberant at just the sight of me in his honest drunken state, and chuckled to myself at seeing him so completely plastered. “Hi Jamie,” I smiled back, “you’re drunk.”

“I’m no’ drrruunk,” his r was rolled so comically long that I almost laughed, “if yer standin’ yer no’ drrunk.” He swayed unsteadily on his feet, his body contradicting his statement.

He seemed to suddenly catch sight of my hand, paused where it had just undone the tie of my corset before he came in. I could see the switch flick in his brain

“Let me help you, mo aon nighean donn,” he said fondly.

He took the unsteady steps toward me, and suddenly there was a mass of drunken Scotsman in my arms. He had drawn me to him at the same time and was leaning heavily against me, holding me tightly with his cheek rested on my head. He pressed a kiss to the top of my head, and his hands wandered to my lower back.

“What happened to helping?” I asked with a laugh, doing my best to support the 15 stone mass cuddling me.

“Och, aye,” he pulled back, returning to his mission.

With the single-minded focus only a drunk man could have on a simple task, he delicately reached for the strings with thumbs and forefingers. His eyes were squinted, and he leaned down to try to get closer.

“Do you-“ I started to offer help, but he jerked up and pressed a finger to my mouth to silence me.

“Shh, let me do mae job,” he insisted, going back to work.

He managed to undo two loops before he lost his attempted precision and began pulling at them in frustration.

“Damn strrings, trappin’ my wife from me. Let her go,” he cursed, tugging at them fruitlessly.

I reached up and placed my hands on his, stilling them. I couldn’t help but laugh as I suggested, “Thank you for your help, darling. Why don’t you take off your boots while I finish this?”

“Aye, ‘tis a braw idea,” he agreed with a serious nod.

He started to lift his foot to tug off his boot when he lost his balance and had to hop backwards until he fell on the bed with a “cack.”

I went back to the task of undoing my corset while he struggled with his boots.

“So, how did you men finish the night?” I asked, making conversation, despite the obvious evidence of how they had finished the night. Major MacDonald had been over for dinner, bringing several companions with him. As usual, we had not been given any word or notice of his visit were woefully unprepared, but it managed to be a nice meal nonetheless. But we had finished hours ago, and I had retired to the room, leaving the men to apparently drink. 

“Och, just had a wee dram wi’ Donald and the lads,” he answered.

“So Donald’s to blame for this? I’ll have to have a word with him...” I started to joke, but he was distracted by his boot popping off, and let out a triumphant whoop.

By the time he had managed to free himself from the other boot, I had finished undoing my corset. I set it behind me on a chair, turning to face Jamie again in my shift.

He froze, mouth open again, boot dropping out of his hand and onto the floor with a thump.

“Ah dhia, you’re the most gorgeous creature to ever live,” he breathed.

I laughed, cheeks flushing a little at his praise “I highly doubt that but appreciate the sentiment,” I replied with an indulgent smile, shyly smoothing a hand over the wild curls that had escaped the pins. 

“No, no,” he shook his head as he got up and walked toward me again, pulling me by the waist with surprising force, “ _ you are _ . Oh mo nighean donn, mo aon ghràdh, I told ye before and I’ll tell ye ‘eryday until I die, ye are the most beautiful woman I’ve seen in my life.”

Lightening quick for someone so drunk, so quick that I didn’t have time to stop him (because I certainly would have if I had known), he reached down and grabbed my thighs to haul me up off the floor, lifting me up into his arms.

I squealed in surprise, wrapping my legs around his body instinctively and holding on to his neck.

Any other night, this wouldn’t have been an uncommon occurrence. He had lifted me up like this countless times as easy as lifting a feather. But Jamie could barely support himself tonight, let alone my added weight to throw him further off balance.

He staggered, but held me so tightly to him that I had no choice but to hold on. 

I squeaked out “Jamie!” as he stepped shakily backward with unsteady stomps, and then we were falling.

He collapsed backward, thankfully having reached the bed, and fell onto it, bringing me down with him.

He let out an  _ oof _ as we made impact. I stayed wrapped around him in shock for a second, and then burst out laughing. My head fell against his shoulder as I giggled. Jamie joined in.

I shook my head and extricated myself from his grip. I started to turn from him, meaning to head toward my dressing table to sit down and take the pins from my hair.

“No, where are ye goin?” Jamie whined, hands reaching out for me again.

“To let down my hair. Christ, you’re awfully needy when you’re drunk. Aren’t you?” I asked with a chuckle.

“I’m no’ needy,” Jamie pouted, arms crossing over his chest where he still laid on his back where he had fallen onto the bed, “it’s just that you’re no’ paying attention to me.” He let out a huff of indignation.

I gave a little coo of sympathy, and got up from my seat, many pins still left in my hair. “Aw you poor thing,” I said, sitting down next to him on the bed. 

Drunk Jamie obviously took this as indication that he was to help me finish taking down my hair, because he had struggled to sit up and was now reaching toward my head. I chuckled to myself. At least he was trying very hard to be helpful. It was kind of cute….

This time, he surprised me by approaching the task with extreme gentleness. Like a child who had been warned over and over to be gentle when touching a small animal, Jamie petted my hair. Discovering a pin within the curly mass, he extricated it very carefully, and then held it out in front of his face in triumph. 

I stifled a laugh and held out my hand for him to drop it in. “Very impressive,” I praised. 

Jamie flushed at the compliment, obviously pleased with himself, and went back to his task. With amazing dexterity given his level of intoxication, he freed several more very quickly. 

I started to relax a little at the feeling of his fingers rooting through my hair, searching for the couple remaining pins. Jamie’s touch was always skilled, even while drunk. I understood why he was so good with horses-- he knew the exact right amount of pressure to soothe. Whether he was doing it intentionally or not now, his ministrations made all the tension flow from my muscles. 

I smiled to myself, thinking that perhaps I ought to get Jamie plastered more often. So far he’d complimented me, been exceedingly eager to help, and now was very touchy-feely in the nicest way. 

He had found all the pins at that point but was still searching with extreme diligence. I didn’t have the heart to stop him, given how nice it felt. But he quickly grew bored, and his careful searching motions soon grew into larger, playful movements, his hold hand carding through my hair, lifting it and then letting it fall back on my shoulders. 

“I love yer hair. Do ye ken that, lass?” he asked suddenly. 

I couldn’t help but laugh. “That’s good, I’m glad someone does. Half the folk on the Ridge think that it makes me a harlot.” 

“Nah,” he quickly shot back, dismissing that notion as ridiculous, “but ye are wild. My fierce, bonny, Sassenach.” 

He had lifted my hair off my neck again, and suddenly lips were being pressed to the sensitive spot just behind my right ear. I shivered involuntarily at the sensation, taken completely off guard. Jamie took delight in this, turning to suck lower down at the spot where my neck met my shoulder. 

The sting of teeth made me jump, starting a good inch or two off the bed. “Jamie!” I exclaimed indignantly, rubbing at the spot. 

He had pulled away, and was now looking guilty, as if he was a child caught with his hand in the cookie jar. 

“I’m verra sorry, mo nighean donn. Did I hurt ye?” 

Hand still on my neck, the shock was wearing off, and I just shook my head. “No, but you’ll definitely have left a mark for everyone to gawk at tomorrow.” 

Jamie’s eyes suddenly glinted, his lips turning up in a satisfied grin. “Och aye? E’ryone will see ye’re mine, my mark on ye...” 

His sentence was likely going to end with “I dinna see the problem”, but instead of finishing his thought, he was launching himself back at me. 

He tackled me down onto the bed, and I pushed at him, chuckling and struggling without any real desire to get away. 

“Get off of me you beast,” I laughed, “you are much too drunk for this.” 

“Stop sayin’ such things. Malignin’ ma character in ma own house,” he grumbled against my neck, where he had successfully managed to reach the skin there despite my struggles, lips insistent. 

“Ooh,” I was playfully sympathetic again, “ _ puir wee James _ .” My attempt at a Scottish accent came off horribly exaggerated, cringe worthy even to my own ears, and it made Jamie stop dead. 

He pulled back from me, very slowly, eyes squinted. His face was no longer open in the soft and earnest way it had been earlier, but now was the picture of serious concentration. He was braced up on his elbows above me, looking down with reproach. 

“Sassenach,” he said in a very controlled tone, “Dinna  _ ever...  _ try t’ imitate a Scot again, aye?” 

I surprised a smile and tried very valiantly to remain stoic and as serious as he. 

“You have my word,” I promised, matching his gravity. I made this vow with complete certainty that he would remember exactly none of the next day. 

He nodded with acquiescence, satisfied with my response, but remained braced over me. 

“Do you still love me after that?” I teased. 

He seemed to shake himself out of his stupor and his eyes lit once again with that adorable earnest look. 

“O’ course I do!” he exclaimed, “I’ll love ye forever no matter wha’, Sassenach. I told ye when we were first marrit that I had forgiven everythin’ ye ever could do. And it's even truer now than i’twas then.” 

This time, I really couldn’t help the laugh that bubbled from my chest at his sincerity, mixed with a sincere warmth in my chest that was too weighty to address. 

“I’m so glad that you can forgive me for almost getting you killed  _ and  _ for making fun of your accent.” 

His brow furrowed, and I could see the wheels turning in his brain. “Are ye makin’ fun o’ me?” he asked. 

“Only a little. But it’s just because you’re awfully sweet when you’re drunk,” I admitted, cupping his face and drawing him in for a kiss. He came to my lips willingly, like a moth drawn to a flame, but likely he hadn’t fully processed my words, because a second later, he pulled back from me, looking indignant. 

“Stop sayin’ I’m drrunk. I told ye, I’m no drrunk,” he exclaimed, a pout forming on that adorable wide mouth of his. 

“Of course not, darling,” I assured, giving his cheek a little pat. 

He nodded, satisfied, and then his brain returned to thoughts of kissing me, evidenced by his blatant stare at my lips. 

“Ye’ve the finest lips, mo chridhe,” he purred, “like wee pillows.” 

I had to control myself not to laugh at him again. He wouldn’t remember any of this tomorrow, but I didn’t want to offend him too much tonight. His body was warm on top of mine, solid and somehow comfortable despite its weight. Blessedly, his elbows were still taking the bulk of him, and I was just captive underneath. 

I puffed out said lips in invitation, and he took the offer without another moment’s hesitation. He leaned down and captured my lips with nearly the exuberance he had on our wedding night. I kissed him back, delighted that all these years later, and in his uninhibited state, he still enjoyed the simple act of kissing me that much. 

Jamie was drawn down to my neck again, his intoxicated brain seemingly drawn to making me squirm. He sucked insistently at that one spot underneath my ear, and a shiver went down the length of my entire body, and I pushed on him as a breathless laugh escaped me. 

“Jamie, stop that. I think it’s time for you, my darling, to get some sleep.” 

He tore himself from his attack on my neck and looked at me with wide eyes. “I dinna want to sleep when my wife is right here in m’bed,” he argued. The picture of my big Scot, his face just like that of Brianna when she was little asking to stay up for 30 more minutes, was so incongruous with his words that my brain nearly short circuited. 

“I love you, do you know that?” I told him suddenly, surprising even myself. 

“Aye, I ken,” he slurred, somehow taking that as an invitation to return to his previous activities. His lips now leisurely fixed on my collarbone, a (thankfully) soft touch. His kisses began to grow lazier. It was now less of an attack and more of a sleepy worship. 

Much to my surprise, he abandoned that fixation rather soon after, and instead laid his head down on my chest, nestling in the softness there with his cheek. 

The weight of his body over top of me was growing heavier by the second. I felt his muscles relaxing. 

My whole body went stiff with horror as I realized that he was falling asleep then and there on top of me. 

“Jamie!” I said urgently, voice coming out a little choked from the pressure on my chest, “you’re crushing me!” 

“Dinna fash, Sassenach,” he murmured sleepily, but made no move to free me. 

“Get  _ off of me _ , you bloody scot!” I grunted. 

I got my hands underneath his shoulders and pushed as hard as I possibly could. I managed to heave him off of me a bit, and some part of his drunken brain must have registered, because he rolled off to the side, landing on his back, both arms splayed out to his sides. 

I gulped in air and counted my lucky stars that I wouldn’t be trapped underneath him the entire night.  _ Note to self, when Jamie is this drunk, never let him on top of you, no matter how charming he might be _ . I now had enough breath to huff indignantly, and shot a look of annoyance toward the now comatose form of my husband. 

His mouth had fallen open and he was breathing in the deep rhythm of sleep. All the lines of his face had smoothed in his relaxation, making him look much like the carefree boy he was when we were first married. That thought made me smile to myself, all my annoyance melting away into affection for him. 

I rolled toward him and braced up on one elbow so I could press a kiss to his forehead. 

“I do love you,” I whispered. 

Then, I pressed myself to his side, laid my head on his chest and wrapped an arm around his middle, and settled in to sleep. 

Just before I had lost all consciousness, I felt a weight land on my feet, and jerked up in surprise. Adso had joined us. The poor kitten had been scared away by Jamie’s drunken bumbling, but now, with Jamie comatose at my side, Adso must have deemed the coast was clear. He settled in on top of the blanket over my feet, deciding that I would be his bed for the night. 

I smiled affectionately, thinking “at least you don’t weigh as much as Jamie,” and then laid my head back down on my husband’s chest, content.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Okay, this is probably my personal favorite of the chapters, it was so fun to write drunk Jamie!! Maybe some drunk Claire is in our future...?
> 
> Love to you all, thanks as always for the support! <3 
> 
> Feel free to find me on tumblr, also @jamiemackenziefraser, I'm always down to chat some OL!


	7. Tomatoes

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> What is it to witness unadulterated affection?

Brianna didn’t mean to spy.

It was just that she was knelt in the garden between two large tomato plants, reaching into the depths of the bushes for a particularly juicy-- albeit elusive-- specimen. So, when she caught sight of her parents walking in from the clearing toward the house, they didn’t see her, but she was in prime position to see them, and thus she became an accidental voyeur.

They were walking side by side, both of her mother’s hands tangled in her skirts in an effort to keep them from dragging in the mud. She looked up at Jamie and laughed, face lit with a carefree happiness as she reacted to whatever he had said. She used her shoulder to playfully bump into him.

Her Da mimicked being knocked off balance by Claire’s push, but then whirled on her and swept her into his arms. At first, he just pulled her mother close to him in a swoosh of skirts, but at Claire’s playful resistance (her palms splayed open and flat on his chest, pushing half-heartedly), Jamie reached down and scooped her up off her feet as easily as he might a lift a sack of grain.

Claire’s laugh carried on the wind, and it made Brianna smile to hear the wild, unrestrained sound.

Claire has never been like that with Frank. They had been civil most of the time. Brianna even used to think that had been love. Living together, parenting together. But seeing Claire here, now— God, the difference. She seemed  _ alive _ . All those years in Boston, during her childhood, her mother had been living a half-life, weighed by grief. Grief of losing Jamie. But now, reunited with him, that weight had lifted from her shoulders and Brianna could see the true vivacity and fierce way in which her mother loved her husband. Her real husband.

She felt a pang when thinking about Frank, as if she was betraying him for being happy her mother had Jamie. Then she felt another stab of guilt thinking about how  _ she _ was the reason her mother had to endure all those lonely years separated from him. Now that was a deep issue she didn’t really have time to address... 

But she was dragged out of her thoughts by a deep laugh from her father. When Brianna looked up at her parents again, Jamie was looking down at Claire in his arms as if she was the entire world.

Claire tangled her fingers in the curls (unrestrained by the strap of leather) at the nape of Jamie’s neck, and then she was dragging him down for a kiss.

It wasn’t hard to convince Jamie, who eagerly followed her beckon and pressed his lips to Claire’s with enough enthusiasm to cause Claire’s head to tilt back.

Brianna felt for a second that she should look away, they obviously had no idea anyone could see them, but she was too enraptured by the scene and didn’t want to break it by announcing her presence.

She saw when their kiss broke, lips parting with a slow leisure that hinted at reluctance, and Claire brushed her nose against Jamie’s just slightly before pulling back.

Her father said something, and then kissed the tip of her nose. He walked a ways, still carrying Claire, who seemed to be struggling a little, but Jamie just held her even closer.

No, Jamie was nothing like Frank either. When her mother pulled away from Frank, he would pull away too, never making the smallest effort to pursue her. She knew that now. But Jamie— he went after Claire in every way. He was just as alive as her, but in a different way. Every part of him radiated strength, loyalty, passion. He cared about those he protected and would never let them slip from him, and none more than her mother. Jamie was well and truly a Laird-- commanding and regal-- but he never looked so happy as he did with Claire. Brianna noticed the lines in his face that seemed to smooth even just when he would catch sight of her. How the tension would flow from his shoulders at her touch. And now, the intimidating warrior who had rained death upon the gang that had taken her mother was nowhere to be found in the sweet, gentle man who was swinging his wife playfully in his arms.

At that moment, Jamie was setting Claire back on her feet. Her mother was pretending to be relieved to be back on solid ground, and yet Brianna knew it was all an act, a part of the game.

Claire suddenly grabbed Jamie’s collar and pulled him down to her so she could press a long, lingering kiss to his lips.

Brianna flushed a little and turned away, feeling extra guilty now. They were nearing the garden, so she quickly feigned busyness, reaching again for the tomato.

At witnessing her parents’ intimacy, she couldn’t help but think of Roger. She could only hope that someday her marriage with him could be like her parents. Of course they were different people, but her mom and da had not only respect and passion, but a need for each other that seemed to grow with every passing day. Brianna could tell that they fell deeper and deeper in love. Isn’t that what every couple wants? 

She was startled once again out of her contemplation by the voices of her parents much nearer now. 

“Perhaps we could-” Jamie was saying, but he was cut off suddenly. 

“-Bree, darling, is that you?” came her mother’s greeting. 

Brianna popped up from behind the bush, holding her basket high as if giving evidence of her business there. 

“Hi Mama. Da,” she replied. 

Jamie’s arm was looped around Claire’s waist now, tugging her closer as they lingered just outside the garden. His fingers tapped absently at her side as she spoke, a simple gesture of intimacy. Now that Brianna had started noticing these things, she could seem to stop. Every simple action stood out to her with acute clarity.

“Lovely day, isn’t it, sweetheart? Do you want any help?” Her mother asked. 

“No, no, just about finished up,” Brianna replied.

“Aye. Perhaps you’ll join us for dinner later?” Jamie asked her.

The moment Jamie spoke, Claire elbowed him in the ribs— discreetly, but enough that Brianna noticed the movement, Jamie’s surprise, and then his subsequent half-suppressed smirk.

She started to stutter out an affirmative answer, but Jamie amended, “maybe ye’ll go get wee Jem and Roger and come after dark, aye?”

Brianna flushed, the realization of what had just transpired between them and their desire for more time before the Mackenzie’s came over suddenly becoming apparent.

“Of course. I’ll just... be going off home then,” she said, hastily busying herself with her basket and collection.

“We’ll see you later, darling,” her mother told her.

“Bye Mama. Da,” Brianna quickly took her leave, hurrying away much faster than she needed to but feel an increasing urgency to give them privacy.

“Goodbye, a leannan,” Jamie called after her.

In the next second, there was a little yelp from Claire. Brianna stifled the urge to look and kept on her way.

God knows what they’d be up to.

As she walked back to her cabin, the embarrassment of being a child seeing her parents flirting gradually subsiding, she couldn’t help but smile to herself.

They were so unbelievably happy. And they deserved it. Brianna had watched her mother toil in isolation nearly all her life, but now she shone of wholeness. Surely Jamie has been the same way-- missing her with his entire being. But together, finding moments to sneak away and enjoy themselves, they were happy.

Watching her parents be so in love gave her hope for her own marriage. And for life in general. The craziest things happen. People travel through time and get torn from everything they know. But they also find love. And happiness. And humor. Surely good can come out of chaos. 

Sometimes life throws you curveballs. And sometimes the curveballs are delightful.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Whoops, this accidentally got a little deep... writing fluff is hard. I hope you liked it anyway. Writer's block is real. 
> 
> There is gonna be a Part 2 to this chapter that is Jamie's perspective showing what was going while Brianna is watching! (Hopefully it'll be published sometime this weekend if writing inspiration strikes). 
> 
> Love as always to you guys!!


	8. Tomatoes Part 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> What was going on with Claire and Jamie while Brianna was watching?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Jamie's point of view on the events of last chapter!

Jamie had his wife’s hand enclosed firmly in his, holding on to her with more force than was strictly necessary for an afternoon stroll. It was just that sometimes he could scarcely believe she was here, and wanted so terribly to feel her in every way possible. Having her hand wrapped in his was a pleasure that Jamie never took for granted. 

They were returning to the house from a wee stroll (something Jamie, quite frankly, thought absurd given all the “strolling” he had to do for the maintenance of The Ridge. But his wife enjoyed it, and he enjoyed his wife, so he went with her willingly. Truth be told, he savored the private moments walking alongside his wife in the peace of the outdoors, unhurried by demands of others).

After kissing against a tree for a long stretch of time, Claire pinned underneath his hands, her lips insistent against his, she had pushed him back a little. Breathless and disheveled, there was a glint in her eyes that made Jamie’s wame flip in anticipation. 

She’d announced they were going back to their bedroom (Jamie was not so picky about locations, but he  _ was  _ getting old. A tree was no place for a dalliance when you were over the age of 25. But God knows he and Claire had done their share of woodland rendezvous when they were first married). 

So he found himself being dragged back toward the house, Claire’s steps a little more hurried than their earlier leisurely pace. 

Jamie thanked his lucky stars that he had been blessed with such a woman. 

At that moment, Claire was swinging their linked hands contentedly, lost in thought. Not in the kind of all-consuming worried contemplation-- instead a rather dreamlike look crossed her face indicating to Jamie that it was something not unpleasant that absorbed her. 

He was about to ask her what was on her mind when-- 

“Do you remember that night in the woods outside Corrieyairack?” Claire asked suddenly, looking up at him with those whisky eyes that made Jamie go weak at the knees when the full brunt of their intensity was leveled at him. 

“Aye, before Culloden?... Are ye referrin’ to when wee John Grey tried to kill me while I was takin’ a piss?” Jamie replied, the corners of his lips already pulling into a smirk. 

Claire nodded, trying to suppress her own smile. 

“I believe ye called me... a Scottish Barbarian?” he added. 

The image surfaced in Jamie’s mind, the picture of Claire-- dirty from travel but skin luminous in the firelight-- barging into the room. God, she had bollocks nearly as big as his own...

“And you liked it,” Claire teased. 

“Aye, well...” Jamie’s insides warmed at the recollection of Claire spitting the words at him with a rather convincing animosity. He had liked it… but-- “I wouldna say that was my favorite part precisely...” 

“Oh, so you enjoyed feeling me up while 30 men were watching?” she shot back, her lips, still pink and puffy from Jamie’s attention, pulled up in a smirk. 

Jamie felt a flush spreading along his neck, “Aye... and the fact that ye were pretendin’ to fight me, squirmin’ against me, when I kent perfectly weel ye enjoyed it.” 

“I did not!” Claire exclaimed indignantly as she jerked her hand from Jamie’s, “I was trying to save John Grey’s life, not have your hand up my skirts in front of all the men!” 

“Oh, so ye didna enjoy playing the posh englishwoman, damsel in distress taken captive by the immoral-- but incredibly dashing and alluring-- ‘Scottish Barbarian’?” He let his tongue roll extra long over the r’s. 

Claire's subsequent blush would warm Jamie for the rest of his days. 

He had been teasing her (mostly...), but her silence and flushed cheeks gave him more than the answer he needed. 

“Ye did!” he exclaimed. 

“Maybe a little....” she admitted. 

Jamie hummed deep in his throat. “Now that’s  _ verra  _ interesting, Sassenach. Perhaps one day ye’ll have to save another wee englishman from my clutches...”

Claire looked up at him and laughed, face bright with mirth. Jamie felt his insides go to mush at the sight. 

“Ye’d like that, aye?” Perhaps I ought tae-”

Claire bumped into him, shouldering him with a surprising force for such a small lass. 

Jamie pretended to be knocked off balance by her, exaggeratingly lifting his feet and stumbling backward. 

“That’s it,” he announced, “this Scottish pig wilna allow such behavior from a wee English lassie!” 

Jamie reached out and pulled Claire bodily against him. She went easily, but her hands splayed on his chest and pushed a little. She squirmed against him in that same gratifying way she had all those years ago that made Jamie’s blood run hot. He smirked at her getting into character. 

“Let go of me you bloody Scot!” she said breathlessly, playing up her English accent. 

Jamie, delighted, reached down to hook an arm under her knee and lift her off her feet. She squealed, the sound like honey to his ears. 

Jamie put on his best deep voice and Scottish burr to say “ _ and what are ye gonna do tae stop me, lass _ ?” 

That was enough to break Claire out of character and sent her into a fit of laughter. 

“Are ye laughin’ at me?” He asked, his own chuckles accompanying hers. 

She nodded, and then her hands were coming up to tangle in the loose hairs at the nape of his neck. She dragged him down toward her, and he eagerly ducked down to press his lips to hers. He was so enthusiastic, in fact, that Claire’s head dropped back with the force of it, and Jamie had to bring his hand up to cup the back of it to keep her neck from craning painfully. 

It was quite the juggling act, carrying her while trying to kiss her with such fervor, but Claire clung to him tightly enough that he managed to hold on to her. 

Breathless, he pulled back to take in much needed air, and Claire brushed her nose affectionately over his. 

Jamie was completely overcome by love for the woman in his arms that he couldn’t help but tell her that and then place a kiss on the adorable tip of said nose. He settled her in his arms again, relishing the feeling of her against him, her thumb brushing absentmindedly over his neck where she held on. The thought of Claire so early in their marriage made him heartsick for the years apart, but he loved her all the more for being here with him now.

Shifting back into character, he straightened, and squeezed Claire on the legs and shoulder where his hands supported her as he carried her. 

“Perhaps I ought t’ take ye back to my room and have ma’ way wi’ ye,” he suggested. 

“No!” she exclaimed, struggling again, wiggling so much Jamie feared she’d slip from his arms. 

He simply hugged her closer. 

“A bonny lass like yerself, it’d be a shame to let ye go unserviced. I’ll do wi’ ye as I please.” 

To prove his point, Jamie swung her a bit, skirts whooshing with the movement, and Claire let out a surprised sound, holding more tightly to his neck. 

“Alright, alright. I couldn’t possibly overpower or escape you,” she relented. She pretended to look scandalized as she bit out, “you can have your way with me.” 

Victorious, Jamie set her down on her feet. 

Claire-- in a moment of possibly getting caught up in the moment and forgetting her part or possibly playing a captive overcome by desire for her captor-- surprised him by grabbing his collar and pulling him into a fierce kiss. 

Jamie was not one to argue with kissing Claire. It was his favorite pastime, aside from perhaps doing other things to Claire… So he met her kiss with just as much enthusiasm. 

When her lips began to pull back from his, he parted from her reluctantly. 

Then, Jamie wrapped his arm around her waist, pulling her flush against his side, and they continued on their way to the house. It was close now, they were just about to the garden, and Jamie was glowing in anticipation of being in the cozy privacy of their bedroom. 

“Perhaps we could--” Jamie was about to suggest that the little scene didn’t have to stop there when Claire was suddenly stiffening. 

“Bree, darling, is that you?” Claire called, her attention fixed on the garden ahead of them. 

Jamie followed her gaze and saw the hint of red hair (his hair, it always pleased him to think about) in the tomato plants. Sure enough, their daughter popped up, raising her basket full of tomatoes in the greeting. 

“Hi Mama, Da.” 

Jamie couldn’t help his slight annoyance at the delay, and he tapped his fingers on Claire’s side, trying to keep her attention. Jamie wasn’t a jealous man... alright, perhaps he was a jealous man, but he usually didn’t mind sharing her attentions with those he loved. But in this particular moment, he wasn’t inclined to stand her  _ chatting  _ with Bree while their precious time alone ticked away. 

“Lovely day, isn’t it, sweetheart? Do you want any help?” Claire was asking.  _ Was she doing this on purpose to torture him?  _

“No, no, just about finished up,” Brianna replied, to Jamie’s gratitude. 

“Aye, perhaps you’ll join us for supper later?” Jamie asked, eager for an excuse to take their leave. 

Claire elbowed him in the ribs, her body minutely pressing against his, and he realized it was close to dinner already and she was hoping for a little more time.  _ Good, they were on the same page _ . Jamie couldn’t stop the smirk that tugged on his lips. Hopefully Brianna wouldn’t notice. 

Just as his daughter was about to reply, he amended, “maybe ye’ll go get wee Jem and Roger and come after dark, aye?”

Brianna blushed a little ( _ bloody hell, had she caught on? _ ), but then quickly answered, “of course. I’ll just... be going off home then.” She reached down and snagged her basket to loop it onto the crook of her elbow. 

“We’ll see you later, darling,” Claire said as Brianna made to leave. 

“Bye Mama. Da,” Brianna answered, and was on her way with much more haste than usual.  _ She definitely knew something was up _ . 

“Goodbye, a leannan,” Jamie called after her. He was inclined to feel the slightest bit of guilt for making her uncomfortable, but he refused to apologize to anyone, ever, for loving Claire. He simply wouldn’t. 

As their daughter walked away, once she was a safe distance on, of course, Jamie leaned down to press his lips to Claire’s ear and say in a low voice, “where were we?” 

To punctuate his words, his hand reached down to take a generous handful of her delightful round arse and squeezed. 

Claire let out a yelp, her hand flying up to smack Jamie in the chest. 

He could only laugh, pulling her by the waist back against him. 

And, as Jamie led her back to the house,  _ her  _ hand now wandering to his bum with hypocritical eagerness, he thanked the Lord for the women he was blessed to call his own. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> That season 2 scene is arguably one of my favorite of the entire tv series (I say tv because it's kinda a lot different in DIA), and I always wished they would bring it up again/reminisce. 
> 
> Thanks so much for reading and taking time for kudos and comments!! You all are seriously amazing and your support blows my mind!


	9. Anxiety and Victory

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Claire gets nervous. Jamie is a good husband.

Claire’s hands were shaking as she prepared her bag with surgical tools. She had meticulously boiled all of them at least three times over that morning. The girl’s water hadn’t even broken yet, but her nerves had been mounting.

Claire wasn’t usually one to get nervous about things. She was confident in her ability as a healer. Of course there was the fear of things beyond her, but she usually was at peace about doing all she could and then letting go of everything out of her control. She hated to lose patients, but knowing she did all that was in her power was usually enough for her. Now, she had been waiting for days for wee Margaret’s water to break, a young girl of 16 living in the Ridge. Her baby had been breech every time Claire checked, even after it should have moved down headfirst. It seemed to Claire that Margaret was long overdue, and it could be any minute.

Claire wasn’t sure why she was so nervous about this one, but her stomach was knotted in tension and she hadn’t been able to stomach anything for the past day or two. She just had a bad feeling about this one. Besides, Margaret was the oldest daughter of the widower Angus, and she was responsible for caring for her 5 younger brothers, who were all under the age of 7. The thought of Claire possibly being responsible for the suffering of that family made her sick. If she lost her... 

She tried to ease her anxiety by packing and repacking her medical bag, the rhythm soothing her almost as much as the satisfaction of being well (or, quite frankly, over-) prepared.

But she still felt tension throughout her whole body, thrumming like a live wire inside of her.

Her hand was shaking so hard that a scalpel slipped from her fingers. The spotless, perfectly sterile blade hit the floor with a clang that made Claire jerk. She cursed in agitation, a stream of profanities slipping from her lips completely unbidden. The release of breathless and too-loud foul language didn’t succeed in helping her feel any better.

She reached down and gingerly picked it up. Sighing in frustration, she walked over to toss it back into the boiling water with a _plunk_.

She turned back to her work, wrapping and sorting her tools, meticulously guaranteeing they were all there.

She nearly jumped out of her skin when a big hand wrapped around her wrist, stilling her shaky movements.

“Jesus H. Roosevelt CHRIST!” She exclaimed jerking away and whirling around. 

She was confronted with the sight of an equally startled looking Jamie, and quickly smacked him on the chest as punishment for scaring her. 

“Christ, Sassenach, tis’ only me. I heard ye cursing up a storm and got worrit about ye.”

Claire deflated a little, nodding in a reassuring manner and saying, “I’m fine.”

She started to turn back to her work, but Jamie stopped her by putting his hands on both her shoulders and guiding her back to face him.

“Ye’re not. Ye’re shaking,” he commented. His hands slid down her arms, caressing in a natural way that made Claire’s stomach clench, until he reached her hands. He took them in his and lifted them, holding them up to study them, as if exhibiting proof.

Her hands were shaking, even wrapped in his, the nerves still sent her into motion.

“What’s botherin’ ye, mo ghrádh?” Jamie asked, understanding shining in his eyes. He was annoyingly perfect like that— not showing a sickening sympathy but still expressing that he cared deeply about how she felt.

“I’m... I’m scared,” Claire admitted, very slowly.

One of Jamie’s hands let go of her to rest instead under her jaw so that he cupped her face. His thumb swept over it as he studied her, eyes searching.

“Scared of what, a leannan?” He asked.

He was hitting the nicknames hard. That meant Claire really did have him worried.

“For wee Margaret’s birth?” He prompted, hitting the nail on the head. He always could read her like a book.

“I don’t know. I don’t know why I’m feeling like this, but I can’t stop. I’m worried I’ll lose her, and there will be nothing I can do.”

Jamie pulled her into a hug very suddenly. One second she was staring up at him, and the next, his arms were around her and she was pressed into his chest.

She told herself to relax, to lean into him and allow his strength and confidence to fill her. Jamie’s presence always did that. His touch fortified her. And this was no different; he must have known that.

At the moment, his hand was rubbing big circles on her back. She softened against him, her muscles loosening as if he drew the tension from them.

“Listen to me, Sassenach,” he said, “you ken what ye’re doin’. Ye’ll do all ye can fer her, and the rest will be up to God. I’ve seen you work miracles, thrive under pressure that would make most men buckle. I know ye’ll do great, mo nighean donn. And whatever happens is God’s will. Aye?”

She nodded against him where her face was pressed into his shoulder. 

But Jamie wasn’t done. “Be still now, a nighean. It’ll be alright.”

His hand wandered to curl in her hair, his fingertips pressing into her scalp delightfully, entreating her to let go of her nerves.

Claire did as he instructed, taking a deep breath against him. He could certainly feel the rise of her chest. Then, as she let it out, she felt all the worries ease.

After a long second of relishing in the still peace of being pressed against the solidness of Jamie, Claire drew back so that she could look up at him.

Jamie’s hand never left, still cradling her head lovingly as she gazed up at him.

“Thank you,” she breathed.

His words had helped, certainly. It was nice to hear his faith in her. Even more so, his nearness and simple peace of his presence calmed her.

“You’re going to do great, Sorcha,” Jamie purred as he leaned in to press a long kiss to her lips.

She kissed him back, marveling at his ability to make her feel a thousand times better.

And when Margaret’s father knocked on the door in the middle of the next night, (and after she refused Jamie’s kind offer to accompany her), Claire felt ready to do all she possibly could. 

***

***

After more than 18 agonizing hours, Claire trudged back toward the big house, absolutely exhausted. She had sent her horse back into the pen and it was contentedly grazing, so now she picked up her skirts and walked back toward the house. 

Margaret had given birth to a beautiful baby girl. The breech birth had not only been a physical toll, but also emotional because she had been fighting nearly the whole time against losing mother or daughter or both. Nevertheless, Claire endured, Jamie’s words of encouragement and confidence echoing in her head. In the end, both mother and daughter were safe and healthy, and Claire had been endlessly praised. The family offered for her to stay the night, knowing she was dead tired and it was a long journey back to the other side of the Ridge, but Claire was anxious to get back home. To Jamie. _To her bed_. 

Her feet ached under her as she trudged on, knees and back sore and complaining. Fergus came walking up to her, waving, and she greeted him with a weary smile.

“Milady!” He called with his sweet wide grin he got when he used the fond title, “how was zee birth?”

“Exhausting,” she returned his smile with a poor, tired one, and brushed him, probably too briskly, but she was anxious to get inside. All she wanted to do was see Jamie and go to sleep. Maybe get something to eat? _No, no time. Husband then bed._

“Fergus,” Claire added, suddenly remembering, “would you please do me a favor and unsaddle Judas? I just set him into the pen without any care, poor thing.”

“Of course, milady,” Fergus tipped his hat and strode off to graciously tend to the horse.

“Thank you so much,” she called after him. 

Claire climbed up the steps wearily, and then pushed open the door. Inside, she found Jamie seated at his desk, pouring over stacks of papers, his glasses perched adorably on his nose.

When she entered, Jamie looked up. His face lit up with joy and his lips spread into an affectionate smile. It always amazed her that even after all these years he still looked at her arriving home as if it was the best thing to happen to him. 

“Sassenach, ye’re home,” he greeted, ripping off his glasses and standing.

“I am,” she answered wearily, but this time the smile wasn’t faked, and it reached her eyes as she took in the sight of her husband. 

He strode across the room, face bright with fondness. He started to reach out for her to pull her into a hug, but she stopped him with a hand on his chest. 

“Darling, I’m filthy and covered in sweat. I probably smell horrible. You do not want to touch me.”

“I dinna care, Sassenach,” He breathed as he muscled his way past her arm to wrap her in a hug. His chest hit her’s with a bit of force, making her lean back into his arms, which were snaking about her waist. Claire let out a surprised gasp that turned into a laugh. Then, she wrapped her arms around his neck and held on as he dipped her back a bit. 

“Missed me that much?” she laughed as he brought his face close to her’s. Her exhaustion faded into the background, just dull ache, as she got swept up (quite literally) in her husband. 

His lips were nearly touching hers as he responded, and she could feel the little puffs of breath on her skin. 

“I always miss you when you’re no’ with me, mo ghraidh.” 

“You say the sweetest things, Jamie Fraser. And I missed you too,” she spoke against his lips in reply, just barely brushing hers over his with each word. 

He kissed her then, a soft but insistent press of the lips. It was short, but still managed to take her breath away. When he drew back a bit, he straightened and pulled her back up with him. He kissed her jaw and then trailed a couple feather-light kisses down her neck, ending with a press to her shoulder. 

He drew back to his full height and looked down at her with a smirk and a mischievous glimmer in his eyes. 

“You do smell a bit,” he teased. 

Claire’s mouth fell open in mock offense, and she started to push at his chest. He just laughed but didn’t let go of her waist, keeping her held tight against him despite her squirming. 

“But I didna say I minded,” he added with a sly grin, and then leaned down again to press a kiss to the sensitive spot under her ear. 

She let out a squeak as his tongue tickled over the skin, and this time she was struggling in his grip to try to get away from the feeling. She laughed and her hand gripped his neck, torn between trying to pull him off and bring him closer. 

“Jamie,” she squeaked, “I’m exhausted, let me go.” 

He did let her go then, his mouth detaching from skin with a slight snick. His arms loosened from her waist and he slid his hands over her back to instead rest on her sides just above her hips.

“A difficult birth, was it? It doesna usually take you this long. I was worrit,” he said, face softening from one of playful teasing into an empathetic concern.

“Yes, it was very touch and go,” Claire informed him. 

The weariness that Jamie’s presence had put at bay came rushing back. She was tired down to her bones. 

“I almost lost both the baby and the mother. But in the end, both were safe and healthy. That’s all I could ask for.”

“You’re so good, my Sassenach,” he said, voice pitched low with something like reverence. He brushed back a bit of curl that had fallen loose from her bun to dangle on her forehead. His touch tingled on the skin of her temple as his fingers made contact.

“A good physician?” she asked. She took a step closer to him and wrapped her own arms around his waist. He mirrored her, hands shifting again to hold her properly. She leaned her head down to rest on his shoulder and yawned.

“Aye, but that wasna what I meant. I meant that you’re a good soul. A kind heart who is always giving of herself to others.”

“I don’t know about that,” she answered, but squeezed him a little tighter in thanks. She nuzzled her face contentedly in the crook of his neck. It was nice to be held by him like this, and to hold him back, but she was quite conscious of the ache in her feet and weariness in every muscle.

As if sensing her discomfort, as he had the uncanny ability to do, Jamie spoke. “Let me take care of you now, Sassenach.”

Before she could even answer, he was leaning down and sweeping her legs out from under her and lifting her into his arms. She let out a gasp, the second one of the day, and quickly situated herself to hold on.

He walked her up the stairs and down the hallway, pushed open the door of their bedroom with his foot, and carried her inside. He set her on the edge of the bed, and then knelt down in front of her. Looking up at her with a gallant smile, he tugged off one of her mud-caked boots.

“Jamie-“ she started to protest, but he quickly stopped her, knowing exactly what she was gonna say. “-I ken you dinna need this, Sassenach, but let me care for ye, aye?”

She nodded with a fond (albeit tired) smile and reached a hand down to brush it lovingly over his face. He pressed a kiss to the heel of her hand as it passed, and then looked back down to tug at her other boot.

His movements were careful and tender as he started working to undress her. He unlaced the ties of her bodice and tugged the stomacher free, crossing the room to lay it on her dressing table. He returned and reached behind her to untie the fastenings of the skirts, sliding them off of her legs, work slow and caring.

Although it was the same actions as when he might undress her to take her to bed, this was nothing like that. It held none of the urgency or tension, he was just taking care of her with a heartbreaking tenderness. Nothing more.

When she was finally down to just her shift, Jamie pressed a kiss to her collarbone and then crossed the room once again to dispose of her dirty clothes. He returned with a basin of water and a clean cloth, the 18th century quick version of a bath. Claire felt the bed dip as he sat down behind her. 

“Lean back against me, Sassenach,” he instructed softly. She complied, scooching back to lean against him. As she rested, head pillowed on his chest, his arms reached around to gently smooth the cloth over her skin.

It felt _wonderful._ The cloth seemed like an extension of his touch, and with each deliberate stroke against her skin, she felt the pent up tension in her muscles relax a fraction more. Jamie was nothing if not a gentleman, performing his duties with an intimate tenderness but no ulterior motive given her state of exhaustion. She closed her eyes and just allowed him to clean her, boneless into his arms.

He finished, wringing the cloth out one last time and setting the basin on the bedside table. Claire found herself mourning the loss of the rag, and even more so, too well situated in his arms to want to change positions. But sadly, Jamie was not willing to just sit and let her just doze against him. 

“Off to sleep wi’ you, lass,” he said quietly into her ear.

She shifted in his hold, turning her body in his arms so she could look up at him. 

“Thank you, my love.” 

She gave him a sleepy kiss, hand rested on his cheek.

Jamie moved a little, signaling he was about to get up. He put his hands on her sides obligingly to hold her up as he slid out from behind her. On her own, she crawled up the bed and underneath the covers. 

She almost asked Jamie to come to bed with her, but then realized that she had interrupted him from his work, and he probably had to get back to it. She shouldn’t tempt him to stay. 

So instead, she just whispered a soft, “goodnight, Jamie.” 

In response, he leaned down and pressed a kiss to her forehead. 

“Sleep well, mo ghràdh,” he said. 

He left the room, and Claire curled into the covers. She knew she wouldn’t be alone for so long in the too empty bed. In a few hours, Jamie would come in quietly, trying not to wake her, but would likely be unsuccessful. It wouldn’t matter anyway, because Jamie had an intense need to snuggle (which of course he wouldn’t admit to anyone), and as soon as he slid into bed, he would be taking her into his arms, which would surely wake her up if she hadn’t roused at his entrance. She would go right back to sleep of course, and sleep much better at that, with the personal heater that was Jamie Fraser and the comfort of his arms around her. 

She smiled at the thought, and began to drift off, secure in the knowledge that Jamie would return to her bed soon, as he always did.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for reading! If you have any requests or prompts for this series, hmu! (I'm also on tumblr @jamiemackenziefraser if you ever wanna catch me there). I have a couple more ideas for more chapters, but I also have another WIP catchin' my attention that I'll probably start publishing soon... But worry not, I'll keep adding to this whenever the inspiration strikes. 
> 
> Thanks to you all for your support, it means the world. Another update coming soon :)


	10. Love Languages in the 18th Century

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Claire tells Jamie how much she loves him.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Once again, we dive into Claire's brain. Written in first person, Claire's point of view. 
> 
> Also, a note on love languages if you aren't familiar. The five are words of affirmation, quality time, acts of service, physical touch, and gifts. These are ways you like to both express and receive love This classification wasn't around in the 18th century, and not even in the 40's, but I'm sure that the basic idea of how to show each other love was something that Claire and Jamie would have thought about. This chapter plays on this idea. 
> 
> Thanks so much for reading, I hope you enjoy!!

I was bad with words. Jamie, however, was the king of men-- saying things to me in trivial moments as well as times of great stress that made my heart ache with loving him. Jamie had no inhibitions about sharing his love through words. He declared his love for me on the daily. He would call me beautiful and say things that made my cheeks flare with color. His nicknames and fondness flowed out of him every time he saw me. He seemed to always be professing his love with unceasing consistency, and would say the most sacrificial, unreal things that I could have called bullshit on coming from anyone but him. I knew for certain that Jamie liked to express love through words. 

I, on the other hand, found it difficult to force the words out. I told him I loved him, certainly, but it still felt foreign to me. I preferred to show him with my body, to be close to him and pour my affection from my heart into my hands until it turned into something tangible. 

Jamie liked that too-- God knew-- but sometimes I felt a tightness in my chest, something close to guilt, when I thought about the force with which I loved him but struggled to tell him with words. I hoped he felt just as loved as he made me feel. 

Well, I loved him enough to get over myself and tell him some nice things. 

With that, I resolved to tell him, loud and clear. Not for myself, but for him. 

*

A few days later, I found myself in the garden, picking through a hoard of green beans. At least I was supposed to be gathering the beans. 

Jamie was feeding the animals. And I was staring at him. 

It was a warm day, and he was clad in only a shirt and breeks. His (extremely nice) biceps bulged as he dumped a bucket of various vegetables into the pen for Clarence the mule, who brayed excitedly. I was only a bit away, unabashedly frozen in raptor at watching him, beans clutched in my hand and pale forgotten at my feet.

Sometimes I was so entranced by the beauty that was my husband, even in such mundane moments as this. I was reminded just how lucky I was to be here, now, with him.

This was the time to shower him in words of love. 

At that moment, Jamie turned from the trough, and he caught sight of me staring at him. He flashed me a smile and walked over toward me. My gaze never left him once.

“Why are you lookin’ at me like that? Do I have somethin’ on me?” He asked, glancing over his shoulder to investigate his cleanliness.

He entered the garden, and I dropped the beans in my hands in anticipation of touching him.

“No, it’s just that you’re so handsome,” I stated, very matter-of-factly.

Jamie flushed, an adorable reddish-pink color rising suddenly up his neck and to his cheeks at the unexpected compliment.

“Och, I dinna ken about that, but  _ you  _ are beautiful,” he said, reaching out to snag my waist and pull me closer, pressing my body against his at the same time as he caught my lips in a kiss.

I pulled back, and he chased my lips as I turned my head to the side. His hands tightened on my hips in disappointment, fingers digging delightfully into my skin. 

“You’re trying to change the subject,” I accused. “Did I embarrass you?” 

I couldn’t help but let out a little chuckle. He flushed a deeper color, and I tried to repress my smile. 

“What’s wrong with me calling you handsome?”

“I’m no’ embarrassed,” he said while turning his face away, “I’m just no’ used to someone sayin’ it out of the blue like that.”

I twined my fingers into the curls at the base of his skull that had fallen loose from the tie and forced him to look at me. “Good. Because I want to tell you that you’re the most gorgeous man I’ve ever seen. God— watching you... that jaw,” I smoothed a hand over the sharp line, his light stubble scratchy over my fingers, “those muscles,” my hands drifted down over his arms. As I was speaking in a low voice, I hovered my lips closer and closer to his. I gave a squeeze to his biceps before returning my hands to his neck and rubbing the muscle gently, making circles with my thumbs. “Your  _ beautiful _ red hair.” My lips were nearly touching his now, and he was leaning down over me with such yearning, body wound tight as a bowstring from resisting kissing me, and rapt with attention on my every move. His eyes were the deepest blue I had ever seen. “Jamie Fraser, you are perfect.”

He broke then, his big hand coming up to wrap around my neck and bring my face up to meet his lips. I let him kiss me, pressing my smile onto his wide mouth. Warmth spread through my insides, both from his nearness and from satisfaction that he seemed to be enjoying my words. He kissed me until both of us were breathless and had to part, drawing deep inhales.

I traced the backs of my fingers over his still flushed cheeks and quirked a smile as I met his eyes.

“I like this, too,” I said quietly.

“I like  _ you _ , my beautiful wife,” he said, leaning in for another kiss. His lips met mine briefly, but I pulled back again.

I furrowed my brow a little. “Jamie,” there was hint of a sigh in my voice, “why won’t you just let me compliment you?”

He made a very Scottish noise in his throat. And that was all I got in answer.

I felt a rush of affection for this sweet, humble man. “Well,” I said, tugging him down to my level to press a quick kiss to his lips in between my words, “you’re just going to have to stand here and take it while I tell you you’re perfect. And you’re not gonna say anything except maybe ‘thank you.’”

I allowed him to straighten up as I began my catalogue anew. 

“You know what else I love about you? Well, it goes without saying that I love this mouth,” I brushed a thumb across his slightly puffy lips, “and I love this little vein that pops up when you’re working really hard.” I traced underneath his right eye, which was smooth now. “And your eyes— God. I can’t even look you straight on sometimes.” Jamie was shifting a little in embarrassment, but to his credit, he was doing as I asked and simply taking it. I decided to ease it for him with my last comment. I trailed my hands down his arms. “And I really... really... love this.” As sudden as possible, I reached around him and gave his bum a firm squeeze.

He let out a surprised gasp, and then his hands that had been casually resting on my hips tightened instinctually around my waist. His eyes sparked as he looked down at me.

“That’s it,” he said. And all of sudden, he was reaching down, wrapping his big hands around the back of my thighs, and hoisting me up. I let out a squeak and wrapped my legs around his body and brought my hands up to his neck.

He gave me a kiss, and then exited the garden, carrying me back toward the house with the tin of beans laying forgotten on the ground.

“I did as ye asked,” he said in a low voice, “I didna interrupt and I listened to ye go on. Now you will hafta do the same.”

“No, no, no. I’m not done with you yet, James Fraser,” my lips were pressed to his cheeks, so my words came out mumbled. I drew back, looking him in the eyes with admonishment, making it very clear that he was instructed to stay quiet until I had finished. 

He gave me a shy smile, ducked his head a little, and made to set me back on my feet, slowly lowering me to the ground. Once on my own two feet again, I lowered my eyes. 

I suddenly felt unequipped to tell him the depths of my feelings. 

The rush that had come from telling him how handsome he was still lingered in my veins. I could tell it made him happy, as embarrassed as he was. That had been the easier part. The words I had loosely prepared to tell him in the coming moment stuck in my throat though. 

Deflecting for a moment, I ran my hands up Jamie’s arms, slowly, greedily taking in the familiar feel of him. I let them travel up, over his shoulders, and then draped them over his neck. 

Jamie, to his credit, was incredibly patient. He was looking down at me with such fondness, a glimmer in his eyes that suggested he could read my every thought and knew exactly what I was struggling with. 

I met his soft blue gaze, and my insides went suddenly mushy with how much I loved him.  _ God, I loved him _ . Of course I could tell him that. 

All of my inhibitions seemed to melt away, and at the same time, Jamie suddenly encircled my middle with his arms, drawing me close. 

It felt so familiar. It was home. 

“What is it ye wish to say, mo nighean donn?” he prompted me gently. 

“I love you,” the words fell from my lips as easily as asking him what he wanted for breakfast, “you know that, don’t you? I love you more than anything in this world. You are mine, James Fraser, now and always. I... I’m so grateful to have found you. I wouldn’t trade what has happened for the world, even knowing what I know now--” I shifted a little, drawing my arms away from him so I could rest both hands on his jaw instead. I met the intensity of his blue gaze with growing confidence. “I love you. I know I don’t tell you enough. But you are amazing. You are caring, selfless, strong-- everything a laird, everything a  _ man _ , should be. I love you so much that I ache with it sometimes. Even when you’re covered in dirt and mud--” I let out a breathy laugh, brushing away some dirt from his shoulder, “--you are the most beautiful man I’ve ever seen. And I’m so grateful that you’re mine. Every day, Jamie.” 

“Sassenach,” Jamie exhaled, a thousand emotions pouring from his lungs, as if he had to bodily restrain himself from professing his love. 

But I stopped him with a hand on his chest. “I know you love me, too, Jamie. You’re so good at saying it, at showing it. I... I just wanted to tell you. Because I know you like that and I don’t do it enough. But you’re my everything, darling. It scares me how much I love you sometimes. But with you, I’m safe, and I’m whole. And I never want to be anywhere else.” 

Jamie’s patience had run out, it seemed, because he cut off my speech by crashing his lips into mine, kissing me with an edge of desperation. His big hand came around to cup the back of my head and draw me ever closer. This time, he was the one pouring his emotions through his body alone, and every press of his lips, gentle and firm at the same time, screamed “I love you too.” 

Finally, too breathless to continue without parting for air, I pulled back. 

I gave him a smile, brushing my thumb across his cheek. 

He started to open his mouth to respond to me, but I stopped him. 

“Please, don’t say anything just now. I told you this because I love you, not because I wanted anything in return.” 

Jamie’s smile was so wide, his eyes so happy they almost looked sad, glittering in the slightest with unshed tears, and he nodded. 

“I love you too, mo ghraidh,” he said softly. And that was all he said. 

I smiled, and leaned in for another kiss. 

I felt a lightness in my chest, a gratification that settled deep within me, soft and warm. As we stood in the middle of the dooryard, kissing the daylights out of each other, I knew beyond a shadow of a doubt that Jamie was happy. He felt loved, and that was all I wanted. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So many things to say...
> 
> First of all, men are hardly ever complimented, so if you have a male loved one, please take the time to do this, because they need it just as much as women.
> 
> About love languages... Jamie (as the king of men) literally shows all five in the books a lot (bless you, Diana). But I think his main ones are probably words of aff and physical touch. (I happen to be those two myself, so at least that's what he is in my stories hahaha). Claire, on the other hand, is definitely NOT words of aff but is physical touch. So Claire trying to get out of her comfort zone and express to Jamie how she loves him in a different way is really hard but super important. While expression of love can't be contained in just 5 neat, ordered categories, the idea of showing your partner you love them in a way that is special to THEM is so important. 
> 
> Finally, thank you SO MUCH, lovely readers. Your support means the world. I started publishing my other WIP (eee! It's called "am mallachd" if you're interested in something different and wanna check it out), so this will probably be updated a little less frequently, but I promise I still have more chapters in the works. Love to you all!


	11. Never

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> You ask me if there’ll come a time / When I grow tired of you / Never my love

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I was going to title this “Never My Love”, but didn’t want to give anyone a heart attack. Based solely on the super sweet lyrics of the song (not a reference to the episode.)

I flipped absentmindedly through a book on my lap, but I wasn't paying attention to it. I was lost in the swirls of my thoughts and found myself starting at Jamie as I contemplated him. He was sitting in a chair across from where I sat on the couch, reading an old paper we'd only just now received. Everything about the situation screamed domestic. 

He glanced up and caught me looking at him. He smiled at me, in a sweet innocent way that made my heart swell with the loving him. He started to look down at his paper when suddenly my mouth was opening completely without my permission. 

“Can I ask you something?”

He looked up again, taking off his glasses and folding them slowly. 

“Ye ken you can ask me anything, Sassenach,” he said, voice holding uncertainty at my odd question.

“This may sound strange- eh... I don’t know how... I mean-“ I stuttered, trying to figure out how to voice the feeling that has settled over me.

“Out wi’ it,” Jamie chuckled.

I sighed and set my book down on my lap. Then, I said  _ to hell with it _ to myself, and spoke. 

“Do you think you’ll ever get tired of me?”

Jamie looked at me for a long moment, incredulous. 

“Tired of ye?” He echoed hollowly, as if processing the question.

“Yeah. I don’t know. It’s just… we’ve hardly ever had a moment to breathe. Always fought for our lives together. And now— now it’s just  _ us _ . it’s stupid I know. I just worry sometimes… that I won’t be enough for you.”

Jamie set his paper down and walked over. He sat down beside me on the couch, sitting so lightly it was as if he didn’t want to make ripples in still water. With a gentle touch, he cupped my cheek in his hand and tilted my blushing face up to look at him.

He was smiling fondly, eyes crinkled a little at the corners, as if he was holding in affection that was liable to burst from him. 

“ _ Never _ ,” he said firmly. His voice held so much conviction, such confidence and ease, that I was taken aback. 

I looked at him with wide eyes, searching his face for telltale signs that he didn’t mean it. But his face was earnest, eyes meeting mine, and I knew beyond a shadow of a doubt that he meant it.

“Och, Sassenach,” he said, voice almost admonishing.

He let go of my face and instead reached around me to pull me onto his lap.

I went unresistingly, and found myself seated perpendicular on him, his arms wrapped snugly around me. In turn, I brought mine to loop around his neck. 

He tilted his face toward mine so we were mere centimeters apart when he spoke. 

“I could  _ never _ grow tired of you, mo ghràdh. This is all I ever dreamed of. To have the love of my life in my arms, safe, happy, provided for.”

He looked at me intensely, blue eyes dark with emotion. “You are everythin’ to me. So of course you are enough.”

I smiled with lips downturned, emotion flooding through me. I found it difficult to believe, but I trusted Jamie. 

I leaned in to him, warm and solid beneath me, and hugged him tightly, pressing my cheek to his chest. 

“Ye’re so foolish sometimes, mo ghràdh,” he chuckled, voice fond, “I dinna ken how you could ask me such a thing.” His breath tickled the baby curls on the top of my hair. 

I let out a little huff against him. “I never doubted that you love me. I don’t know why, it’s just something I worry about sometimes. Being able to live up to what I might be in your mind,” I admitted.

“Well, you needna fash yerself anymore,” he said, still embracing me with a firmness that underscored his words, “because there will never be a day when I don’t need you. When I don’t want you.” 

One of his hands came to cup my shoulder and the other cradled my face, pushing me gently back so he could force me to meet his eyes. “If I could,” he said softly, “I’d have ye in my arms every second. No, Sassenach, I willna  _ ever  _ get tired of this.” 

He returned his arms to my waist and pressed me against him again, holding me so tightly it was as if he feared I might slip away. 

I stretched myself to kiss his neck, the nearest accessible to me. I felt completely overcome by emotion. 

I fell in love with him more and more every day, so I could only believe him when he told me it was the same for him. 

For a long time, we just sat in silence, holding each other, as the fire burned low. 

My absurd fears were well and truly assuaged. Jamie was perfect, as always. It just helped to hear him say it. 

I finally drew back enough to look at him again, and he loosened his hold a bit to allow me.

“Do you ever worry about anything?” I asked, brushing back a stay strand of hair that had escaped his tie.

“I worry all the time that God or something in this world may take you from me,” he answered in a low voice, “and I worry that I willna be enough to protective ye. But I never worry about  _ us _ .”

I smiled bittersweetly, a half smile tugged downward. We had been through a lot, and there had been far too many times when we thought we might be parted-- by time, by circumstances, or by death. I had already known this was a worry of his. It was a worry of mine as well.

“Whatever happens, I promise you’re enough. And I’ll  _ always  _ love you.” 

I had no better answer than that, so I punctuated my answer with the best reassurance I could-- I pressed my lips to his in a soft, sweet kiss.

His lips melted against mine, and his touch gradually grew more insistent.

But our peaceful moment was rudely interrupted. A solid weight suddenly fell into my lap, and I jerked away from Jamie in surprise.

We both looked down to see a little ball of fur, already curled up into a perfect circle in my skirt, purring boisterously. I laughed at the adorable and comical interruption to a perfect moment.

Jamie narrowed his eyes at the cat until they were just blue slits of agitation. 

“The wee’an never sits wi’ me, and he choses  _ now  _ to join you,” he muttered.

“Well, I’m sitting on your lap, so by extension, isn’t he too?” I joked, tongue in cheek and smiling at him.

Jamie was not amused. His fingers poked my ribs in retaliation. Ticklish as I was, I jerked away from him, wriggling out of his grasp with a laugh.

This was enough to scare Adso off. He launched himself from my lap with an indignant squeak, which was probably Jamie’s original intention.

With a grin of satisfaction, my husband looked back to me. 

“Now where were we?”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A lil chapter that I wrote instead of working on “Am mallachd” because... writer's block. So here I am!
> 
> Happy Thanksgiving to all my U.S friends! I'm so grateful for all your support <3


	12. Parritch Cookies

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Jamie takes Claire on a surprise date

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Buckle up for some romantic clichés

I was busy crushing herbs and bundling them to dry in the surgery when the door opened. I had not been expecting any patients, and turned around in surprise, readying myself to face the incoming disaster. 

Instead of a bloody victim of an accident, I was met with the sight of my smiling redheaded Scot. I instantly melted out of the professional posture I had quickly put on. 

“Hi darling!” I greeted him. That familiar flutter in the pit of my stomach that I got at seeing him, even all these years into our marriage, hit me at full force. 

He answered with a smile and removed his hat. 

“Milady, may I request your presence for a midday meal?” he said formally, ending his request with a courtly bow. 

I couldn’t help the smile at his behavior. “Most certainly,” I answered. I walked over to him and offered my hand. He took it, and pressed a feather-light kiss to the back.

He then offered his arm, and with a little chuckle, I tucked my hand in the crook of his elbow. As he led me out the door, Adso made an indignant meow from the corner (where he was supposed to be mousing but was mostly just lazing in the sun as I worked), perturbed by my abrupt exit. I shot him an affectionate, "get to work, cat," and allowed Jamie to lead me out the door. 

We made it as far as the porch before my husband seemed to decide that having my hand on his arm was not enough for him, and he opted instead to snake the arm around my waist.

“Where are we going?” I asked with a smile in my voice as we walked in time, pressed together. 

“Patience, Sassenach,” was all he would answer. 

We walked the grounds-- him leading me over the flat expanse of grass in front of our house. It was a gorgeous day-- there were beautiful puffy clouds in the placid blue sky and the sun was shining, but it wasn’t in the least bit hot, the wind making it just perfectly on the side of chilly so that I wanted to snuggle against Jamie. Any hotter and I may have been resisting the touch of his ever-heated body. 

We walked up the hill, and the moment he guided me on the little deer track that headed toward the left, in the direction of the white spring, I was certain that was our destination. 

After we walked a little closer, I caught sight of a plaid and basket spread out on the ground close to the edge of the spring. 

“Aw, Jamie... you planned this,” I said in amazement. I turned to him as a feeling of happiness bubbled up in my chest at the sweet gesture. 

“Aye. After all I’ve put ye through, I hafta spoil ye every once in a while,” he answered with a smile that made my insides melt. 

“Oh Jamie,” I stopped and turned to him so I could wrap my arms around his neck, “You spoil me every day.” I drifted in and kissed him, my hands at the base of his skull pulling him closer. 

I opened my eyes just before I drew back, and saw that his were already open and looking down at me with hooded lids, affection glazing the blue into a near indigo. 

He then took my hand and led me the last couple steps to the plaid. We sat down across from each other, and I arranged my skirts around me as Jamie pulled the basket closer and opened it. 

He handed me a cloth with some cheese, jerky, and bread in it, and then produced a pitcher and cups and poured me some wine. He poured himself a cup, and then raised it with lips tilted up on one side. 

“To my wife, who I find m’self fallin in love wi’ more and more every day,” he toasted. 

My cheeks flushed and I smiled. I had to resist the urge to throw myself at him and kiss the daylights out of him, but instead allowed him to clink his cup against mine. 

“And to the King of Men,” I answered after taking a drink, “who I am so fortunate to call mine.” 

He gave me a raised eyebrow, but then smothered his spreading grin in the cup. 

We both set our cups down, and I grabbed the basket to check inside. Lifting the lid, I noticed one more bundle that was unaccounted for, and looked up at Jamie. When he only smiled at me, lips quirking in the corner, I took it as an invitation and picked up the bundle. 

When I unwrapped it, I had to stifle a laugh. 

Inside were misshapen lumps of caked oats. 

I looked up to Jamie, who was gazing at me with a sheepish smile. “You were telling me about the desserts in the future made of parritch, what were they called?” 

“Oatmeal cookies,” I answered, struggling to keep my composure and not laugh at the poor imitations. 

“Aye, those. Weel...” a blush was rising on Jamie’s high cheeks, “I tried my hand at makin them for ye, but I’m afraid they didna turn out so fine.” 

I was suddenly overcome with the absurd urge to cry at his absolutely adorable attempt at recreating oatmeal cookies, a favorite of mine. They were awful, and I was certain he didn’t add any amount of sugar and they were likely just parritch dried and molded into balls, but it was the effort that counted, and his effort was so damn sweet. This beast of a warrior and laird-- the same man who had led the army into battle at Prestonpans and had been deemed a devil by the terrified English-- had put on his apron and tried to bake cookies... for me. 

I quickly set them aside and launched myself into Jamie’s lap. I wrapped my arms around his neck and kissed him before he could even react to my sudden appearance on top of him. He caught up in a second, however, after overcoming his shock. His lips tilted into a smile against mine and then pressed back with equal enthusiasm. I kissed him until I was breathless and panting and had to draw back for the simple necessity of air. 

His eyes were clouded as I did, and he too was breathless when he spoke. 

“You like them then?” He asked. His voice betrayed his surprise, and it was about the most adorable thing I’d ever heard. 

I couldn’t help the laugh that bubbled up from my chest. I put my hands on either side of his jaw, still straddling him as I sat on his lap. 

“No,” I laughed, a full on belly laugh shaking my entire body as I shook my head back and forth, “ _ but I like you _ .” 

I leaned in and kissed him again, and this time he was ready for me. He kissed me back insistently, and his big hands smoothed up the length of my back, curling over my shoulders to push me closer to him. 

Suddenly, I felt a light smack of something small on my shoulder. Then another on my head. Then another wet impact on my arm. 

Rain. 

Jamie and I both drew back and looked up. The moment we did, the skies seemed to open up, and rain started to pour down, big wet drops falling at rapid speeds and splattering onto the leaves of the trees. 

I started laughing and lifted my palms up to feel the rain. Jamie, on the other hand, let out a string of Gaelic curses. He quickly ripped the extra blanket out from under the basket and lifted it over my head, valiantly trying to protect me from the sudden downpour. 

“Damnit,” he cursed, “I cannae even give ye one nice experience wi’out disaster. Christ!” 

He looked downright miserable. The rain soaked his hair and turned it dark red, and drops were dipping down his skin. His shirt was already drenched and his shoulders slumped underneath it. More than his soaked appearance, he looked utterly disappointed about the failure of the picnic. All of this culminated into making him into the picture of a pouting child. 

“Jamie,” I chuckled, “it’s alright. Really.” 

I touched a hand to his wrist, forcing him to lower the blanket from my head. I smiled as the rain poured freely down on me, and I leveled that smile in Jamie’s direction, trying to reassure him that his romantic date wasn’t ruined. 

“We’re already soaked. We might as well make it fun,” I reasoned with the big, soaked Scot in front of me. I took his hand, the wet skin sliding across mine as I firmly situated my small palm into his large grip. Then, I stood up, dragging him up along with me. 

I turned my face up toward the sky and reveled in the feeling of the drops on my face. It wasn’t cold, but the perfect temperature to enjoy it. 

As a child, I had always been fascinated by rainstorms. I had few memories of my parents, being so young when they passed, but one of my favorites was playing in the rain with my mom as I avoided all the puddles like the plague and squealed in elation at the feeling of the drops on my face. In that moment, I was overcome by delight, and I let go of his hand to lift both of mine toward the sky with palms upturned, enjoying the free feeling that came from being absolutely soaked and not caring about it one bit. 

I turned and looked at Jamie. Ever the Scot, he was so used to rainstorms on the road meaning days of wet clothing and shivers. He looked miserable. His shoulders were still hunched against the downpour and his eyes narrowed as if his frustration could somehow stop the rain. He was looking at me enjoying it as if I had lost my mind. 

I ran back to him, grabbing his hand again. 

“Come on, you bloody Scot. We can make it fun,” I coaxed. 

I started running, dragging him along behind me, laughing at little as I slipped in the rapidly softening mud. I skidded down the narrow trail, one hand holding on to Jamie and one hand holding up my skirts so I didn’t trip. 

Soon, I emerged out to the clear section of our land, and I turned back toward Jamie again, who was barely tolerating my towing of him. 

I ran backwards, looking to him with a wide, playful smile as I dragged him along, trying to convince him that I was enjoying myself and he should too. It seemed to be working, and the grumpy look on his face was slowly morphing into a reluctant smile. 

I let out a breathy laugh when I nearly tripped backward over the uneven ground, and I tugged on his hand to try to right myself. As I looked back up, I noticed that his face had brightened even more. I realized suddenly that it was shining with clear affection for me rather than actual enjoyment of the situation itself. But still, I was glad he was no longer miserable. 

Turning back forward, I noticed a puddle in front of us forming in a depression in the earth. My mind halted at first, as it did every time I saw a puddle. But this water wasn’t a portal-- a pristine entrance to another world waiting to drag me far away. I had already found my home, and here I would stay. With Jamie. So, swallowing any instinct to avoid it but knowing I was safe with his hand clutched in mine, I grinned to myself and led my unsuspecting husband toward it. Once we were near enough, I threw myself forward with a lengthy jump and landed smack in the middle of the puddle with a two-footed stomp. 

Water sprayed up from it all over me and Jamie, soaking us. The look of surprise on his face-- wide eyes and open mouth that screamed of shock and betrayal-- was worth its weight in gold. 

It took him only a second to gather himself, and as soon as he did, he leveled me with an avenging glare softened only by the smirk that graced the corners of his lips. 

Just as he started to jump forward to splash me back, I let go of his hand with a squeal and fled. I leapt away just as he landed in the puddle and created a massive spray of water. I narrowly missed the splash, and stood a few feet away, skirts clutched in my hand. 

Jamie’s eyes narrowed in challenge. 

“I’ll get ye for this, lass.” 

His body coiled and then he sprang after me, arms outstretched to grab me, and I turned on my heel and started running. Jamie gave chase, following close behind. I could hear the squelching of his boots gaining on me through the sound of the downpour. Laughing, I turned and looked back at him over my shoulder to see I was still a few lengths ahead of him. My eyes met his, and I saw a carefree joy there that almost made me want to stop our game and just let him catch me. 

But I was also competitive. Enraptured by him as I might be, I wasn’t just going to give up. I turned back a little, skipping backward as he chased me. 

Jamie was much bigger and much faster than me, and up until this point, he had just been indulging me, allowing me to stay ahead of him for the sake of the chase. Now, he easily bridged the distance between us. He reached out and grabbed my waist, catching me and then pulling me flush to him. I twisted as he did, turning so that I would face him as our bodies pressed together. 

We panted for a second against each other, and I looked into his eyes, smiling joyfully. 

And then he was kissing me, his lips capturing mine with a quick dip of the head. It was a passionate kiss, and struck me as exactly the kind that they show in the cinema, the downpour absolutely adding to the cliché moment. And my God if it wasn’t perfect. The rain beat down on us as I kissed him, my hands on his cheeks and his wrapped around my waist. At that moment, I felt exactly like a girl in the corniest film. Only it was better than the movies, because it was Jamie. He was real and he was mine. 

As we kissed in the rain, any pouting over the ruined picnic had been completely and utterly forgotten.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Honestly, I was not super content with how this turned out and debated whether or not I should post, but I was at a loss for how else to change it, so I just decided to go for it in hopes that you guys may enjoy. 
> 
> I hope you all are safe and well this busy season, and so much thanks for reading!!


	13. Yuletide

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Claire, Jamie, and the family celebrate their first real Christmas at the Ridge.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks to Robinshill for the prompt about exchanging presents! Please accept my humble offering of Holiday fluff, hope you enjoy :)

Yuletide came on the heels of a cold, rushed, and hectic winter. Fraser’s Ridge was buried underneath several feet of snow, and Claire had spent the last few days desperately clinging to Jamie in an attempt to soak up any warmth his body had to offer. Jamie had been busy writing correspondence and keeping up with his other duties, and Claire had patients to attend-- running noses, coughs, even hypothermia cases all showed up at the doorstep of her surgery covered in snow. So, the Frasers had ended up playing host to a number of unwanted house guests who ended up snowed in. Still, by the time Christmas Eve (a holiday Claire and Bree had insisted on celebrating despite its relative unimportance to highland tradition) rolled around, the guests had made their way back to their families, and Claire and Mrs. Bug were busy readying the house for the _expected_ guests-- Marsali and Fergus’ family, Brianna, Roger, and Jemmy. 

Claire shivered to herself as she placed some bannocks on the table. The Big House had a roaring fire in the hearth, but the winter was so savage that even the comfort of her home could not quite warm her fully. 

As if reading her thoughts, she was suddenly enveloped by her own personal heater as Jamie appeared behind her and wrapped his arms around her middle. 

“Ye’re shiverin’, mo ghraidh,” he commented in a low voice in her ear. The gentle _whoosh_ of his breath made her shiver for an entirely different reason. 

“Of course I’m shivering, it’s bloody cold!” Claire shot back, pressing her back closer to Jamie’s front. She turned her head to look over her shoulder at him. “Are you not?” 

“Nae,” he answered with a little tilt of the lips, “shall I warm ye up?” 

Claire turned in his arms to face him and draped her own around his neck. She leaned in close so that her lips barely hovered over his as she spoke. 

“As much as I’d like that, our daughter will be arriving any minute.” 

Jamie let out a faint groan. He thumped his forehead against hers lightly in disappointment, but there was a smile on his lips, and Claire knew he was excited to spend the day with his family. She leaned in and gave him an indulgent kiss. 

“Why don’t you go fetch some more wood for the hearth, and I’ll finish up here?” she suggested. 

He nodded against her, but his arms didn’t move from their place around her middle. She was getting ready to admonish him for delaying their preparations when he spoke. 

“I love you,” he said softly. 

“Oh,” she breathed, pulling back a little so she could look him in the eyes and smile, “I love you too, Jamie.” 

With that, his face broke out into a grin, he gave her lips a peck, and then he was bounding off to finish readying the house for their family. 

***

Claire and Jamie watched from the front window as the Mackenzies came trudging through the snow toward the house. Roger walked beside Bree carrying Jem-- the 2-year-old bundled up in every warm item of clothing imaginable. Jamie’s arm was wrapped around Claire’s waist, and she could feel him all but vibrating with exuberance. Family was everything to him, and she knew having his own daughter and grandson close by for special occasions was incredibly meaningful. She was excited herself, and beyond grateful for the blessing of having _both_ her daughter and the love of her life with her-- it made her heart swell nearly to bursting with joy. 

When the Mackenzies made it to the porch, stomping snow off of their boots, Jamie was throwing open the front door and welcoming them. 

“Fàilte air mo theaghlach,” he bellowed as he beckoned them inside. Claire’s brain translated _welcome my family_ and then she mentally patted herself on the back for her Gaelic prowess. 

“Come ‘ere, a chuisle,” Jamie reached out for Jemmy who was already squirming in Roger’s arms with his little hands grabbing for his Grandda. 

Claire took Bree into a tender hug, and then moved on to Roger as Jamie bounced the little boy up and down in greeting. Bree and Roger both drew further inside, and Claire quickly stepped past them to close the door that Jamie had forgotten in his excitement at seeing his grandson. Once the door was safely closed, she reached out for the little boy herself. Jemmy all but launched himself at her, and Jamie gave her a dirty look and murmured something about stealing. 

“Are Fergus and Marsali here yet?” Bree asked, distracting Claire from pressing as many kisses as possible to Jemmy’s bright red cheeks while he giggled hysterically. 

“Nae. They’ll be along shortly, I think. Before that, we have a surprise for wee Jem,” Jamie answered. 

Jemmy’s eyes lit up at that, and he bolted upright in Claire's arms to look at his Grandda. 

“Su’prise?” He squealed. 

“Aye,” Jamie’s eyes sparkled with the satisfaction at enthralling the little boy, “why dinna ye take a seat, a chuisle?” 

Jemmy wriggled down from Claire’s arms as she let out a breathy laugh, and then he bolted-- as quickly as his unsteady toddler legs could take him-- over to the settle, where he clambered up and immediately started swinging his legs. He squirmed in his seat, as if the three seconds he had been sitting there was already far too long to have been kept waiting. He smacked his palms on his legs in impatience, repeating, “su’prise? Su’prise?” 

“Aye, aye, there’s a patient lad,” Jamie chuckled as he retrieved the bundle from the corner of the room. 

Claire sat down across from Jemmy, who was flanked by both his parents, and settled in to watch him open his present. 

After handing it to the little boy, Jamie came to stand at Claire’s side and placed an affectionate hand on her shoulder. She looked up at him a smile, which he returned along with a gentle squeeze. 

Paper was quite the commodity at this time, so Jamie had wrapped the present in spare linens and secured it with ties, which Jemmy was tearing into with all the zeal (and lack of prowess) of a two-year-old. Brianna let out a laugh and reached over to untie a knot and give him a little assistance. As soon as she did, Jemmy flung the linen off, and his eyes went wide at the sight of what was underneath. 

Brianna looked up at Claire and Jamie with a mouth slightly opened in awe. Already, there was a slight sheen of tears in her eyes. 

“Mama, Da… this is too much…” she said, but the joy shining on her face told a different story. 

Amazingly, Jem knew exactly what it was, because he was squealing in sheer delight, “I be jes’ like Grandda!” 

He bunched the little tartan in his baby fingers and held it to his chest. An instant later, he popped up and started to wrap it around his pants in an adorable attempt to turn it into a kilt. 

“I’ll help ye later, a chuisle,” Jamie said fondly, “there’s a verra special way we put it on. Once ye learn, ye can be a real highlander.” 

Jemmy beamed and pointed up at Jamie. “Grandda!” he squeaked, adeptly identifying Jamie as the epitome of a highland warrior. 

Roger was fixing Claire with the same emotional expression as his wife. 

“Claire, this is too much. He’ll just grow out of it in a few years....” 

Claire shook her head, and smiled at where Jamie was kneeling next to Jem and complimenting him on looking “verra braw” in Fraser colors. 

“We know. But look how happy it makes him. Makes both of them.” 

Claire’s heart was clenching at the sight of the matching expressions of sheer joy on Jem and Jamie’s faces. It swelled ever further as the little boy suddenly dropped the tartan and launched himself at his grandfather, wrapping his chubby arms around his neck and squeezing with all his might. 

Jamie scooped him up into his arms and stood, holding the little boy to his chest and giving Claire an exuberant smile. 

“Thank ye, lad. Why dinna ye go give granny a hug and tell her thank ye as weel?” Jamie suggested. He released the little boy, who instantly came barrelling toward Claire. 

She had just managed to lean down enough to intercept him before he came crashing into her legs. She lifted him up into her lap and cuddled him close. He gave her a heart-melting smile, and then stretched up to place a sloppy kiss to her cheek. 

Apparently he had forgotten his instructions to say thank you, but what Claire got was even better. 

“I love ye, granny,” he cooed. 

Claire’s breath was knocked out of her at the sweet, sweet boy’s words. 

“I love you, too, baby.” Her lips downturned in emotion as she held him close. 

The moment couldn’t last forever, though. As precious as he had been, he _was_ a toddler, and he was soon squirming down from her lap to go demand more surprises. 

Brianna rose then to cross the room and give Jamie a hug. 

“Thank you, Da,” Claire caught the words whispered into his shoulder. Then, her daughter approached her, and she stood with arms outstretched to receive her. Holding her own baby to her chest merely seconds after doing the same to her baby’s baby, Claire was nearly overcome. 

Tears pricked at her eyes, and she quickly blinked them away and mentally muttered to pull herself together. She managed to give Roger a hug before she found that the damn was breaking, and she couldn’t possibly hold it back. 

She excused herself hastily (not terrible timing as Jem was beginning to terrorize poor Adso and his parents were intervening with warnings about claws) and fled to the kitchen. 

The moment she found herself alone, the tears came rushing down her cheeks. She wasn’t sure exactly what was making her react so strongly, but she was completely moved. With a smile across her face and gratitude in her heart for the safety of her family, she stood in the middle of the kitchen and allowed the tears to drip down her cheeks. 

She nearly jumped when a quiet voice suddenly asked, “are ye alright, a nighean?” 

Jamie had appeared behind her and was watching her, face soft with concern. When he asked her if she was alright, his voice was pained, as if fearing that the perfect moment would come crumbling down. He approached her cautiously, and extended a hand to gently swipe his fingers over her tears. 

More came— completely unbidden— at his tenderness, and she only cried harder. 

“I’m fine,” she smiled brightly through the tears, “I’m just so happy.” 

Jamie’s expression morphed instantly from one of concern to lighthearted joy. 

“I ken exactly what ye mean. Come here, mo ghraidh,” Jamie opened his arms, and Claire leaned into him, allowing him to gather her close. She savored the nearness of him, the immediacy of the moment, and mentally told herself to treasure this day for the rest of time. 

Jamie pulled back, drying her tears again with his thumbs. 

“Let’s go back to our bairns, aye?” he said with a smile. 

Claire nodded, and Jamie reached down for her hand and led her back to the living room. 

They found Adso in the corner eying Jemmy warily-- who was restrained on Brianna’s lap. The little boy returned the cat’s gaze with one of equal distaste, and Claire couldn’t help but laugh at the picture. As she and Jamie entered, hand in hand, Roger rose. 

“We have a wee present for ye both as well,” he announced. 

“Oh?” Jamie asked in surprise. 

He brought Claire to the side of the room where he stood and looped an arm comfortably around her waist. She leaned against him again, and they looked from Roger to Bree expectantly. 

Roger reached into his coat and produced a fair amount of what looked like folded fabric. Claire watched, perplexed, as he turned his back on them and instead walked over toward the hearth. He seemed to be fiddling with something for a long moment, and Brianna released Jemmy (the wee gomeral instantly tripping at her heels) to go help. The two of them worked at the hearth for a long minute, Jemmy helpfully smacking the back of their legs and repeating “Mama? Mama?”. Finally, whatever they were doing was done, because they turned around with triumphant smiles and faced Claire and Jamie. 

At the same time, as if they had coordinated it, Bree and Roger stepped aside, revealing 5 stockings hanging over the hearth. Not decorative stockings as Claire had hung in her Boston home for Christmas in the 20th century, but regular old 18th century stockings, into which Brianna had stitched J, C, R, B, and J. 

Claire gasped in delight, and her hand flew up to her chest as a breathy laugh escaped her. 

Jamie, on the other hand, was looking from her, to his daughter, to Roger with an expression of pure puzzlement written across his face. 

“I… dinna understand. Yer present is… to dry yer stockings on our hearth?” he asked hesitantly. He looked to Claire helplessly. 

Brianna stepped forward, smiling and obviously trying not to laugh at her father’s ignorance of 20th century ways. While they had explained a lot about Christmas and its importance in their time, they had failed to educate Jamie on some of the more outlandish points. 

“It’s a Christmas tradition from our time, Da,” she explained, “every Christmas, you place stockings-- well, they’re usually a little different than this-- on the hearth. And when the children wake up on Christmas morning, they find presents inside.”

Jamie’s mouth opened a little and he swiveled his head in a dubious half nod. His brows were furrowed adorably. “I see. So… ye use perfectly good stockings… Could ye no’ jes _give_ the child the present and _wear_ the stockings?” 

Brianna rolled her eyes, and Claire squeezed her arm around Jamie’s side affectionately. 

“It’s a tradition, Da. They don’t always make sense,” she laughed, “sometimes they’re just fun. Besides...” she turned and looked at the mantle, “I suppose you _could_ use them after, but you only get one.”

Claire broke free of Jamie and went over to give her daughter a hug. “Thank you, lovey. It’s a little piece of our time; I love it.” 

When she pulled back, she noticed that Jemmy was tugging on Roger’s hand insistently. 

“Daddy?” He questioned, “Daddy? Socks?” He looked up at the stockings, little red brows furrowed in confusion. 

Roger chuckled and ruffled the little boy’s hair. He picked him up and bounced him on his hip to look more closely at the stockings. 

“Yes, Jem. Stockings. This one is yours. And if you are a verra good boy, there might be a wee present in there tomorrow!” 

Jemmy squealed in delight, and Roger turned to wink at Claire. 

“Just another reason for the gift. Had to teach Jamie and Jem our traditions. Who knows, maybe next year we’ll try to explain Santa Claus.” 

“Santa cwa?” Jemmy echoed in confusion. 

Jamie chose that moment to swoop in, stealing the little boy from his father’s arms and transferring him to his own. 

“Dinna fash about their nonsense, lad. You and me, we’re gonna teach them about a real highland Hogmanay in jes’ a few weeks, aye?” he said conspiratorially. 

Brianna and Claire let out matching laughs. 

“You have yourself a deal,” Bree chuckled. 

***

Fergus, Marsali, and the bairns arrived shortly after. Germain instantly scrambled over to Jem and took his hand, dragging them off to a chorus of “be good”s from their parents. The children were given time to play as the adults enjoyed some fine whiskey, and soon, the whole family was wrangled and sat down for supper. Excellent conversations, well behaved children (well, as well behaved as could be expected), and good food made Claire feel warm and content. It seemed to her the perfect Christmas. 

As soon as the last bite was taken, the bairns were hustled upstairs to be cleaned and put to bed by their mothers. Fergus asked Roger for a game of chess, and they disappeared off, leaving Claire, Jamie, and Mrs. Bug, who began clearing the table. She expected Jamie to head off after the men to claim the next game of chess, but as she rose to help clear things away, his hand was suddenly wrapping around her wrist. 

“Leave it,” he said softly, smiling, “I have one last surprise for the day.” 

Claire set down the plate, and allowed Jamie to take her hand. He twined their fingers and gave it a little squeeze, and then led her up the stairs and toward their bedroom. He let go of her hand as he closed the door behind them, and Claire crossed her arms and gazed up at him with a smirk. 

“If it’s a _certain_ kind of present you’re after, we should probably wait until our guests leave.” 

Jamie’s face flushed an adorable shade of pink, all the way to the tips of his ears. “Och, well, I wouldna say I’d be opposed to _that_ sort of present… but it wasna what I had in mind.” 

He bid her to stay where she was, and then he reached behind the dressing table to produce a little box. 

“Oh, Jamie,” she said, her voice hushed in reverence, “I thought we agreed presents weren’t important. We don’t exactly have a lot of spare income lying around.” 

He approached her with both remorse and affection dueling on his features. The firelight flickered, bathing him in a soft glow that made his eyes seem a darker blue than usual.

“Ye deserve the world, mo chridhe,” he said softly, taking her hand again and running his thumb over his ring, “I’ve told ye that before-- that I wish I could give ye everythin’. Deck ye in lace and fine things like ye deserve…” 

“And _I_ said that none of that matters to me,” Claire countered firmly, “You’re all I need.” 

“Aye, well, it matters to me. Sometimes I just want to show ye a glimpse of how much I love ye. And… weel-- this is a bit of that.” 

He opened the box while looking at her with an expression of wide-eyed earnest offering. She was so entranced by his endearing look that it took her a second to glance down at the gift.

When she did, her heart leapt to her throat. 

“Oh, Jamie…” she murmured. 

Inside was a necklace, a fine silver thing, with a little pearl set at the bottom in a simple mounting. 

Jamie gently lifted it from the box. As he walked around behind her and began to unfasten it and place it around her neck, he started to explain. 

“I ken that ye gave my mother’s pearls to our Bríenna. And I am so eternally grateful to God that we have a daughter to pass them along to. But still, that was one of the most precious gifts I ever gave ye, and I wanted ye to have something of yer own. To keep.” 

By the time he finished speaking, the necklace was fastened around Claire's neck. He ran his fingers reverently over the skin of her shoulders, making her shiver at the feather-light touch. 

She turned toward him, hand placed over the pearl at the base and tears glistening in her eyes. 

“I love it, Jamie,” she whispered. 

She reached a hand up to the back of his head to pull him down into a kiss. She lingered on his lips for a long time, pouring her love and gratitude into her touch. 

Finally, she pulled back, and gave him what felt like her millionth smile of the night. Her cheeks were beginning to hurt with the strain, but there had never been a sweeter ache. 

“I have a present for you, too,” she said. 

He leveled her with a teasing look. “‘I thought we agreed no presents,’” he quoted her earlier protest. 

Claire shrugged as she leaned down to grab it from under the bed. 

“I guess I didn’t listen either.” 

She straightened, strode over to him, and unceremoniously placed two books in his hands. 

He looked at her, mouth agape, and then down at his hands. He grasped the volumes with shaking fingers, and excitedly began to inspect them. 

_Gulliver’s Travels_ and _Candide—_ both considered classics in Claire’s time— had been damned difficult to procure. Jocasta had finally gotten them for her, just in the nick of time, after months of planning. Claire had first had the idea when looking at Jamie’s sparse shelf in his library. Jamie was an avid reader, really a lover of knowledge of any kind, but books were a luxury the Frasers couldn’t afford. The only things sitting on his shelf were the Bible he’d gotten in Ardsmuir, a beat up novel that had traveled with him ever since Helwater and been read countless times, two more than had been bought from a traveling salesman, the book on North Carolina's wildlife, and Brianna’s scattered artwork. 

Much to Claire’s delight, Jamie looked genuinely overcome. 

“Claire, this is too much…” he whispered. But he was already clutching the books tightly in his hands, as if she’d change her mind at his words and suddenly rip them away from him. 

She laughed and stopped closer. 

“You deserve so much more. But I thought you’d enjoy these,” she said simply. 

He leaned in and pressed another kiss to her lips. Discreetly transferring his new books to the bed, he freed his hands so he could wrap them around Claire’s waist and pull her closer. 

They kissed for a long moment, telling each other thank you without the assistance of words. 

“We should probably be getting back to our guests,” Claire murmured against his lips. 

“One moment, I’m kissing my wife,” Jamie countered, capturing her lips once again and pressing insistently until she was left breathless. 

They stayed that way for a long time— fire dying down and minutes flying by— and the words they had spoken earlier had never been more true. They didn’t _need_ to give gifts to express their love. 

But it was awfully nice when they could.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Grandpa Jamie is PEAK content in my opinion, and one of the only reasons that could possibly make me forgive Diana for depriving Jamie of raising his children. 
> 
> I hope you enjoyed! Merry Christmas, and thank you so much for reading!!


	14. Home

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Jamie gets distracted during a business meeting.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hope you enjoy a quick bit of sentimental Jamie!

Across from Jamie sat Duncan Innes, Hiram Crombie, Tom Christie, and Arch Bug. Duncan and Hiram were going back and forth about some nonsense that Jamie didn’t particularly care to listen to. Arch, being a man of very few words, simply leaned back in his chair and listened intently to the debate. Tom seemed to be teeming with the urge to add something but was biding his time so as not to interrupt the two men. Although Jamie knew this was business he probably (no,  _ definitely _ ) should be paying attention to, he couldn’t he seem to bring himself to care.

Instead of engaging with the men, he was staring out the high window of his speak-a-word. He was just tall enough and at the perfect angle to see out. The window faced Claire’s garden, and at the moment, his wife was out there, diligently harvesting green beans. 

Jamie was entranced by the sight of her. There was a carefree smile on her face-- an expression he knew meant she was at peace. His heart ached with gratitude to see that. And if he was being honest, a bit of pride that he had created this sanctuary for her. 

Because it truly had been all for her. 

Jamie cared for his tenants greatly (even the ones currently buzzing in his ears about mundane issues). But Fraser’s Ridge wasn’t for them. It was all for her. 

She had never had a home. A real home. When Jamie listened to her stories about life on the road-- camping in tents with her Uncle Lamb, moving with the army in the war (the thought of Claire alone and near that kind of danger made him sick to his stomach, but he always swallowed that down) and then finally being dragged into a different time-- he ached with sadness for her. Jamie had Lallybroch as the place his heart would always reside if he had no other. And he desperately wanted for Claire to feel like she had a place. 

She always told him that  _ he  _ was her home. He knew exactly what she meant, of course, he felt the same way. As long as he was with her, could hold her in his arms and be held by her in return, that was all that mattered. Still, any time he looked at his wife, he knew in the very marrow of his bones that she deserved the world-- and he wanted to give it to her. 

And now he had created a place. Carved out land for her. Built a home, and then a better one. They had their family. She had her garden. A place where she could harvest her green beans with that wee smile gracing her face. 

He loved her ever-more in the mundane. 

Jamie suddenly couldn’t take it anymore. He placed his hands on his desk and stood, his chair making a loud groaning sound as it slid backward from his sudden movement. His business partners looked up at him with mouths agape. 

“Sorry gentlemen, please excuse me,” he said quickly, brain only absently focusing on the words, and then he was fleeing the room. 

He walked purposefully through the house to the front door, using his long legs to cover as much distance as possible and scaring Claire’s wee cheetie from his spot with his haste. Adso simply gave him a green-eyed stare of displeasure as he scampered off, but Jamie had no more mind to pay him than the men he’d left in his speak-a-word. His mind was focused on one thing alone

When he emerged out into the sunlight, he had to contain himself not to break into a run at the sight of his wife. Lengthening his strides further, he covered the length of the field until he was in the garden with her, and then he was sweeping her into an embrace, her shirts flying at the sudden movement. 

She let out a squeak in surprise, and it took her just a moment to gather herself before she started to hug him back. He had her folded tightly against him, both of his hands splayed wide across her small back, pressing her ever closer as if he could actually make his body into a cloak that wrapped completely around her. 

Claire was laughing-- a bright sound, a little breathless in surprise. 

“Well hello to you too,” she said. He could hear the smile in her voice at the unexpected affection. 

She brought her hand up to his neck, pulling him down in the slightest-- as if she could fold him into herself as well. The thought made adoration well up in him anew. 

“Is something wrong, darling?” she asked. Her fingers squeezed his neck gently. 

Just another thing he loved about her-- she was so quick to comfort. To put others before herself and look after their needs. 

“No, mo ghraidh, no’ a thing. I jes’ wanted to... well...” he suddenly had no idea how to explain himself and his odd behavior to her. He couldn’t exactly blurt out that he had simply been overcome by the loving of her during a business meeting. 

She continued to hold him, her small hand stroking back and forth at the base of his skull, and allowed him to hold her in return. 

“I was watchin’ ye through the window, ken? And suddenly, I couldna bare to spend another second listenin’ to business when my bonny wife was so near.” 

She let out another laugh, but one of a dismissive nature as she flushed at the compliment. 

“Oh,” she said in that way that was so typical of Claire, “Sorry for distracting you, I suppose.” 

He pulled back to level her with a gaze filled with the intensity of his devotion. 

“Ye always distract me, Sassenach. Sometimes I’m jes’ better at hidin’ it than other times.” 

She smiled, her beautiful lips quirking up in the corners, eyes crinkling, and the apples of her cheeks lifting. 

_ Christ, she was the most beautiful woman he’d ever seen.  _

He told her as much, just before he captured those bonny lips with his mouth. 

She melted into his kiss as she had so many times before. He would never tire of that little sigh that escaped her nor the way her body would press against his, all the tension leaving her as he kissed her. She fit into him as perfectly as a key into a lock. 

And when she was with him, he was home. 

He kissed for her a long minute-- heart swelling as he relished the moment to simply  _ be _ . To be with his wife. On his land. Safe from the outside world that tried to rip them apart. 

Their home. 

The one they had built together.

***

Inside the big house, Hiram Crombie shook his head disapprovingly. All four sets of eyes were fixed on the scene outside the window. 

James Fraser-- locked in a passionate embrace with his wife-- in the center of their front garden, in the middle of the day. 

After Fraser had simply up and left a formal meeting. 

_ Preposterous _ !

Hiram let his consternation show clearly on his face. 

“Who does he think he is? Running out to his wife when there’s business to attend to. With barely a word of leave? I have half a mind--”

“I dinna ken what’s gotten into him,” Duncan was shaking his head disapprovingly, but Hiram felt outraged that he didn’t seem to quite share his level of indignation. 

He turned to Arch Bug to see if he may get more support from the quiet man. 

“I will not tolerate such disrespectful and lewd behavior. I-- I--” the indignation choked the words in Hiram’s mouth and tied his tongue so he couldn’t seem to produce any more words other than, “who does he think he is?”

Arch Bug looked him dead in the eyes, thick brows set in a solemn expression. 

“He is a man in love.” 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I wish we had more Jamie POV in the books. There's one chapter in Fiery Cross when it's basically just Jamie being like "man I wish I was with Claire right now" and it was the best, so thus this ficlet was born. 
> 
> If anyone's interested in an update about what I'm working on....  
> Now that "Am mallachd" is finished, I have started writing a new multi-chapter WIP (ahh!). I'm trying to kind of write more of ahead of time before I start posting, but keep an eye out for when I publish it (I'm pretty excited about that story!). In terms of this work, I mostly just write when inspiration strikes, so I'll be around. 
> 
> Thank you for reading!! Much love to you wonderful folks! Hope you all are staying safe <3


	15. The Great Rivalry

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Adso plots for Claire's attention.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So earlier today (not planning to write any fluff, mind you) I thought to myself “wouldn't it be fun to reread one of the earlier chapters?” And so I did, and discovered that I-- much to my shame-- had ended up posting chapters with quite a few errors 😳😔. The worst being the occasional first person (I wrote the first few ficlets in Claire POV and then switched everything to third person thinking people would prefer that) which my proofing hadn’t caught. *Ashamed sigh* Oof, maybe I need a beta… Anyway, some of them are cleaned up now— my apologies that my brain gets very much caught up in what I THINK I wrote haha. So, here’s a surprise Adso crack ficlet in apology.
> 
> You guessed it... Adso pov. COMPLETE silliness, please approach it as such, and I hope you enjoy!

Adso sat on the floor of Claire’s surgery, tail flicking in annoyance. His Claire— that’s right, _his!,_ she most certainly belonged to him— had been neglecting him for days. Weeks even. She would come into the house, and Adso would preen in front of her, showing off his very soft and pettable fur, waiting to do his duty and comfort his mistress. But instead of petting him (okay, maybe it was a bit more than duty… he did quite enjoy her ministrations), she would go breezing through like her tail was on fire, not even sparing him more than a glance. 

And even worse, oftentimes she’d ignore him in favor of _the red one_. The big oaf (that’s how Adso referred to him, even though he knew very well his name was Jamie) was not Adso’s favorite person. Sure, the man had rescued him, and he would always be grateful for that. They’d taken an instant liking to each other when he was a kitten. But no more. He was _Claire’s_ cat, and he didn’t like fighting with the man over her attentions. Make no mistake, the moment the oaf had pushed him off Claire’s lap for the first time, it had become a rivalry. 

Sometimes the red man would bumble in with Claire, petting her, but he did it all wrong. His big hands were clumsy (unlike Claire’s, which knew how to stroke his fur perfectly), and he’d go about squeezing Adso’s mistress through her skirts or crushing her to him. Adso did not like that at all. He used to try to go over to them and explain to the red oaf that he was doing it _all wrong,_ but the only thing he got for his troubles were some Gaelic curses or a mumbled “away wi’ ye, cat.”

So much for his generous advice… but that’s what he gets for trying to help an ignorant man. 

Even so, Claire had always used to make time for him— sitting on the settle with him in her lap, stroking his fur before bedtime, scratching his ears when he lay out in the sun. But recently, Claire had been so busy and stressed that she’d barely done any of that! 

But he was determined to right the situation. The only question was _how?_

It only took two caught mice and three hours of napping in a sunny spot to come up with a plan. 

Claire was a healer. She was drawn to help people by her beautiful, kind heart. Many a time, he’d watched her fix people in the surgery. And every time, her attention would be fully on them, and _never_ on the red man. So, he deduced, all he had to do to get her undivided attention was to fake an injury. 

He’d be ready for her when she came into the surgery later that day. 

***

The moment Claire stepped into the room, Adso shot up— ready for the show. He let out his most heartbreakingly pitiful meow and lifted his right paw. Exactly as planned, Claire’s attention immediately fixed on him. He started to take a step toward her, gingerly putting his weight on the “injured” paw, and then feigned distress. He quickly snatched it up again and let out a pained mewl. 

Claire was instantly dropping to her knees beside him. 

“Oh no, you poor thing, did you hurt your paw?” she asked tenderly. Worry was written plainly over her fur-less features. 

Adso let out another _mrrow_ of sad confirmation. Much to his satisfaction, Claire then picked him up (with the utmost care, far more gentle than she ever was with the red man) and placed him on her lap. 

“Let me see, lovie,” she cooed. 

Her hands delicately cupped his paw, and he allowed her to gently poke and prod, letting out a pained meow now and then to keep up the act. 

“I don’t see any burrs or bites. Did it get trapped in something? Or did you injure it outside?” she was asking with concern. 

Adso was in heaven. Her hands were starting to stroke him now, comforting him, and he had to resist the urge to let out a purr. But he was enjoying this far too much to give up the game now. So he softened his big green eyes, looked up at her with what he hoped was a heart-wrenchingly pitiful expression, and then rolled himself over onto his back. 

_What would really help me feel better would be if you would pet my tummy._

Claire got the message loud and clear, because her fingers buried themselves in his soft belly fur. Adso stopped paying attention to her words now, but she seemed to still be cooing in sympathy. A purr bubbled up from him when she scratched at his chest— there was no way he could stop it. But thankfully, it didn’t seem to phase her nor did it stop her petting. 

It was at that moment— of course it was, Adso couldn’t have one nice thing without being interrupted— when the red man blundered into the surgery. 

“Sassenach,” he bellowed in greeting. Okay, maybe it wasn’t exactly a bellow, but everything he did was loud. He hurt Adso’s ears. 

Adso was not about to let himself be upstaged yet again. He rolled onto his side so that he could give the man his most intimidating piecing green stare, but stayed very firmly planted on Claire’s lap. He would not be giving her up without a fight today. 

“Hello, darling,” Claire was replying. 

_No! Don’t talk to him! Keep petting, right there—_

Her hands had stilled their ministrations, and Adso glanced up to see she was reaching toward the red oaf, cupping his face and pressing her mouth to his. 

_Ugh! Stop that! It’s not his turn!_

Adso let out an indignant meow, and Claire suddenly broke away from the man. 

“Oh, Jamie,” she said, “Adso’s hurt his paw.” 

“I’m sure he’s jes’ fine, Sassenach, dinna fash. I’ve missed ye today. Did ye get a lot done while I was out huntin’ wi’ Ian?”

Adso was astounded by the insolence. _Dismissing his pain as if he wasn’t an integral part of the family! Changing the subject immediately, trying to draw Claire away from him. Worst of all, bragging about his hunting! Adso hunted countless mice for Claire, and never once did he brag or ask for thanks. The red one was playing dirty._

_Well, this means war. The claws were coming out now._

Adso let loose the greatest weapon he had in his arsenal. He gently butted Claire’s hand to get her attention, let out an endearing chirp, and then began to nuzzle his face against her side. 

He could feel Claire’s attention coming back to him. The tension in her body relaxed at his touch, and she seemed to melt as her hands returned to petting him. 

_Take that, you clumsy fool! She loves me more._

“I missed you, too, darling. And I did. But I really am worried about Adso. I couldn’t see a thing wrong with his paw. Maybe—“ 

“Sassenach,” his voice was almost chiding now, and Adso knew the man was aware he was losing the battle and was struggling to gain the upper hand again, “he’s _fine._ Ye look tired, mo nighean donn. Why dinna we go upstairs and head to bed, aye?”

"That sounds good," she agreed. 

_Bed wouldn’t be so bad,_ Adso thought. Claire often would stroke his fur while she sat in bed, getting ready to sleep. And then he could curl up at her feet in the warmth of her body… 

_That is… if the red man didn’t shut the door in his face and keep him locked out!_

Adso was determined to be in bed with Claire that night. Even if he had to scratch the red oaf’s calf to shreds in order to do it. He gazed up at Claire and meowed softly, trying his best to sound like a tiny kitten. _Take me with you!_

To his delight, Claire picked him up, cuddling him to her chest. She was soft and warm, and Adso really liked being held. She stood up, and as she walked past the red man, Adso gave him his best narrow-eyed look of triumph. _No way Jamie could slam the door in his face now._

Once they were upstairs in the warmth of the bedroom, Claire set him down on the edge of the bed and got herself ready. Adso could be patient, though. He curled up at the foot of the bed and purred a little— trying to be just loud enough that she wouldn’t forget about him. 

Jamie’s face looked particularly red as he watched Claire. So ugly— all sharp edges— not anything like Adso’s soft, round face, which Claire most certainly preferred. 

With eager anticipation, Adso watched his mistress cross the room. He saw Jamie’s eyes flick toward him. _This was the moment_ … and they both knew it— the moment when Claire would pick between them. 

It was him or the red one. A showdown for Claire’s undying love. 

Trying to tip the scales in his favor with one last ditch effort, Adso stood up and meowed politely at her. He lifted his paw again for extra sympathy points. The big oaf, for his part, seemed to be doing everything he could to win as well. He was settling into the bed (on his side, of course), and Adso watched in disdain as the man opened his arms— as if waiting for Claire to come to him. But clearly she wouldn’t, because she would be coming to Adso instead. 

Adso glanced back at Claire. She was circling the bed to get in on her side, and he saw that her eyes were flicking back and forth between him and the red man— _who would she choose?_

And then…

_Victory._

_Delicious, purr-invoking, tail-puffing-in-delight,_ victory. 

Claire had picked him up and hugged him to her chest as she got into bed. 

_This was it. He had won her undying affection. She had picked him over the red oaf, and—_

_What was this?_

Adso’s triumphant purr caught in his throat as he felt Claire shifting as she laid down. 

_She was laying down in the red man’s arms!_

Adso bristled, feeling the victory swiped out from under him like a mouse that had escaped his claws after he’d pounced. He was about to howl in protest when he suddenly felt her hands stroking his fur and realized that he was still cradled to her chest. 

_Wait a second…_

_Claire was cuddled against the red man AND him…?_

Adso had to pause in his indignation to think. Claire was petting him languidly, and her body was warm and relaxed against him. _She was happy,_ he realized. 

It was then that it stuck him just how much his mistress _liked_ the red man. 

But tonight, her attention for him hadn’t waned when she’d gone to the oaf. She was cradled against the red one AND petting Adso. Sharing her affections. Loving them both.

Well, if his mistresses loved the red man, Adso supposed he must too. For the first time since he’d declared war on Jamie, he suddenly felt bonded to him. Now, they were united in a common purpose: caring for Claire after a long day. Being loved by her and loving in return. Equals. Maybe even partners.

So, as Adso began to drift to sleep to the feeling of Claire stroking his fur, he decided to call a truce on his war against Jamie. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Oh gosh, I had never written something of the sort before today and certainly hadn't planned on it, but it was fun! Sorry for pitting Adso against Jamie… it was a hard choice to make because Jamie is canonically amazing with animals. But in the end, cats are very possessive, and so is Jamie, so thus a rivalry was born. In fact, this rivalry began with Jamie's jealousy in the first chapter if you recall...  
> Hope you enjoyed my silly apology offering 😂<3


	16. Perks of Having Your Own Personal Physician

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Jamie gets sick… and he’s awfully clingy when he doesn’t feel well.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Surprise, I'm back with a late night ficlet! Honesty hour, I haven’t been able to write more than a sentence or two on anything for weeks now, but tonight I just sat down, opened a page hoping to write something sweet and fluffy to get the juices flowing, and this happened. All in the span of like 30 minutes, so sorry for any mistakes. Without further ado, here is a ficlet with plenty of your favorite sick-fic staples!

Claire was bustling around her surgery— disinfecting, sorting bundles of herbs, generally cleaning up after a day of patients that had streamed in and out— when Jamie entered the surgery. She could tell immediately that something was off, because he didn’t give her a greeting of any kind. Silent as a mouse, Jamie walked straight toward her and then folded himself down and around her. 

That was the best way to describe how he embraced her. Unlike his usual hugs where he pulled her to him and enveloped her with his strength and solidness, this time Jamie crumbled down to her, pressing his face into the crook of her neck. Overcome by tenderness for him, Claire herself seemed to grow in order to hold the big man. After hugging him tightly for a long moment, she slid a hand up to the nape of his neck to cup it soothingly. 

Instinct had taken over, and Claire had naturally shifted into her role as both wife, mother, and physician, which had her comforting first without question, because that was what he seemed to need. But alarm and concern were racing through her at this strange behavior— something was clearly wrong. Jamie wasn’t a small man, nor prone to moments of weakness, and seeing him so desperate for her to hold him made her stomach twist into knots. She couldn’t help but fear the worst, and imagine all sorts of potential tragedy that could have him reacting in this way. 

“What’s wrong, darling?” she tried to keep her voice light as she murmured the question into the curls she was currently pressing her lips against. 

Jamie raised his head from her shoulder enough to answer with a feeble, “I feel like shite.” 

Claire nearly laughed in relief. Upon second thought and more carefully taking stock of him, she realized he  _ was  _ incredibly warm. The skin of his face where it pressed against her bare neck was blazing, and she could even feel the heat from the back of his head where her hand held it. He was trembling just in the slightest— not from emotion as she’d first guessed— but from the fever ravaging his body. 

“Oh you are sick, aren’t you? Poor thing. Sit down, let me have a look at you,” Claire instructed. 

When Jamie refused to move, but simply clung to her all the more tightly (his arms were like tree branches secured around her waist), she gently herded him backward toward the cot in the corner of the surgery. Once the back of his knees hit the edge of the bed, she pushed down on his shoulders, sending him unresisting into a seated position on top of it. 

He obliged her for long enough to give him a small exam. Looking up at her with exhausted, glassy eyes, Jamie seemed to waver a bit. She placed a steadying hand on his cheek as she began to inspect him. With her free hand not occupied with comforting her needy patient, she palpated just under his chin. Sure enough, swollen glands rose prominently under her probing fingers. Already knowing he had a fever, she then placed the back of her hand on his forehead to gauge how serious it was. Jamie let out a breathy sigh as he felt the coolness of her hand against his fevered skin. 

“Open your mouth,” she ordered gently. 

His mouth fell open obediently, and Claire thought it was rather adorable that his eyes fell closed at the same time. He was sitting there (so pale, the poor thing), with tongue stuck out, eyes shut tight, and shaking like a leaf— just waiting for her to make it better. 

She peered into his throat, even bringing her mirror-candle-contraption close to get better lighting, but found no white spots that were the tell-tale sign of strep throat. Mentally crossing that one off the list, she continued on with her diagnosis. 

“You can close your mouth now, darling,” she said tenderly. 

When his mouth closed and she was once again greeted by fever-glazed blue eyes, Claire continued on, “what are your symptoms? I know fever. Sore throat?” 

“Aye, and my heid’s been hurtin’ somethin’ fierce since I wen’ out thi’ mornin’,” Jamie slurred, his accent heavier than usual. 

“Why didn’t you come inside earlier?” she exclaimed in dismay, imagining him suffering through his numerous chores and duties all day in this state. 

“Work tae be done,” he murmured with a cringe. 

As he was speaking, he started to slump forward, and then suddenly there were big hands grabbing handfuls of her bottom and a face was pressed into her bosom. Claire let out a breathy laugh and allowed him to clutch her as he rested. 

“Even when you’re sick…. Is that so?” she asked teasingly. 

“Anythin’ tae help me feel better, aye?” came the muffled reply from her chest. 

She slid her hands up his back and to his head, using one hand to hold him comfortingly against her and the other to gently massage the back of his neck. Craning her head down, she planted a kiss to the top of his, answering his rhetorical question. She would do anything and everything to help him feel better. 

“I’m sorry, my love,” she said softly, “but I’m afraid you have some sort of virus, and there’s not a whole lot I can do medically besides make you a tea for the pain and to bring down the fever.” 

“Virus?” Jamie didn’t move his face away from her, just spoke once again from where his face was pressed to her bosom. 

“Like germs,” she said simply, “tiny bad things in your body.” 

“Can ye no’ fight it wi’ yer penicillin then?” 

Claire slid an arm around his shoulders in a half-hug before answering, “I’m afraid not. The best thing you can do right now is get plenty of rest and stay hydrated.” 

Jamie hardly ever got sick. In all the years she’d been with her husband, he’d often been seriously injured— that was for certain— but she rarely saw him struck down by something as simple as a virus. It was endearing to see his clinginess to her when he felt bad— many patients just want to be alone in their misery when they’re sick, but of course “many patients” aren’t Jamie Fraser. Not to mention, it was nice to care for him when she wasn’t so worried about his life that she could think of nothing else. 

“Let’s get you up to bed, shall we?” Claire suggested softly. 

But the big Scot didn’t release his handfuls of her ass, nor did he make any indication that he’d be getting up— or even moving— from his current position any time soon. 

“Wouldn’t you be more comfortable in your own bed?” she tried (although she wasn’t sure how much luck she’d have in convincing him to move. Frasers were a stubborn enough lot even when they were feeling well— there’d be few things on earth powerful enough to move Jamie Fraser against his will now.) 

“Will you be there?” he asked, delivering what had to have been the worst pickup line of all time in his breathy, tired voice. 

Claire couldn’t help but laugh. Her sweet, miserable husband was taking “clingy” to a whole new level. 

“Yes, darling, I’ll stay with you,” she promised softly, “but no funny business. You’re going straight to sleep.” 

The arms around her loosened and Jamie’s face withdrew (not before once gratuitous rub… daringly close to a nuzzle) against her chest, and then he was blinking up at her sleepily. 

“I’ll go where’er ye tell me, a nighean,” he murmured. 

“Wonderful,” she praised. Leaning down, she took his hand in hers, “let’s get you up to bed then.” 

Using her grip on his hand, she tugged him up to a standing position with as much strength as she could muster. A small part of her was worried that he would simply collapse on top of her the moment he was upright and send them both toppling to the ground where she’d be crushed under his weight until some poor soul stumbled upon them and could offer aid, but— thankfully— he was admirably steady. With Jamie clutching her hand tightly, she began to lead him up to their bedroom. 

Either his condition had deteriorated quite rapidly since he’d come inside to her or he’d been pushing through the day by sheer force of will, because it had been only a mere 30 minutes ago that she’d glanced out the window and seen Jamie lugging a sack of barley on his shoulder, and now he could barely make it up the stairs. Or maybe it was just that he had finally allowed himself to relax and feel bad because he was in her presence where he felt safe… 

Jamie didn’t allow himself to be vulnerable in front of many people. Yet everything that had just transpired in the last few minutes screamed of vulnerability, and it’d been in such an easily trusting manner that it spoke volumes about their intimacy. Claire’s insides warmed at the thought, going all mushy in a way that only Jamie and her daughter could elicit. As much as she loved her strong, provident husband, Claire couldn’t help but be overcome with the force of loving this cuddly, sick Jamie. 

Once they made it to their bedroom, Jamie collapsed straight onto the bed, boots and all. Claire spent the next few minutes tenderly readying him for sleep— slipping off his boots, tugging his coat from impossibly heavy arms, and removing his belt. When she crossed the room to put the things in their proper places, a protestation sounded from the bed. 

Claire puffed air from her nose in amusement but was careful not to let him hear her lest he be offended. She quickly finished up her task and turned toward him once again. He’d made it under the covers by this point (thank God, she’d never have been able to maneuver his dead weight enough to get him settled by herself) and was gazing at her expectantly. With a bit of a resigned sigh, she gave up the notion of taking off her stays. That could wait, and with any luck, he’d be conked out in minutes and she’d have an opportunity to undress for the night. And even if he didn’t, she loved him enough to endure a night of discomfort for his sake. But she wouldn’t dream of making him wait another minute. 

Crossing the room, she slipped under the covers and then scooted closer to him. Unsure how he might want to lay to be the most comfortable, she stayed sitting up against the headboard and waited to see what he’d do. 

To her surprise, Jamie didn’t tug her insistently down or plead with her to lay against him. Instead, he simply situated his head directly in her lap and sighed contentedly. 

Claire could have melted with how sweet he looked, his head nestled in her lap and eyes squeezed shut. He was peaceful, still, and Claire would have done anything he wanted in order to help him stay this at ease, even if it meant she’d sit up all night. 

The peace evaporated in an instant, however, when suddenly Jamie’s head jerked up and he looked up at her with huge, glassy eyes, the pupils blown wide. 

“But will my gerrrms get you too?” he asked as the realization came to him, rolling the “r” in “germs” absurdly as he always did, even apparently in his half-panic for her well-being. 

Claire hummed soothingly, placing a gentle hand on his head to lower it back down to rest in her lap. 

“Don’t worry about it, I’ll be fine,” she soothed. 

Jamie seemed content with that answer and nuzzled his face into her leg as he relaxed again. Claire’s fingers wandered to his hair, and she began to undo the ribbon that bound it into a neat tail. Once freed, she fluffed it, separating the strands, and then began to card her fingers through the red locks. He sighed, a long, sleepy sound of pleasure, and seemed to melt even further as her fingertips brushed along his scalp. 

Overcome with the sudden urge to express it, she quietly said, “I love you, Jamie.” 

“I love ye more than life, mo nighean donn,” came his muzzy reply, but despite his sleepiness and discomfort, it was no less earnest. 

“Sleep well,” her voice fell to a whisper. 

She continued to stroke his hair for a long time, occasionally switching to rub his back or massage his temples, and it wasn’t long before his breath began to even out into the steady rhythm of sleep. 

Her stays cut uncomfortably into her skin, and her back was already beginning to twinge in the slightest from her position against the headboard, but she wouldn’t have dreamed of moving if bloody George Washington himself showed up in their room and ordered her to. She would stay in this position, uncomfortable as it was, for as long as it brought even a modicum of relief to her suffering husband. 

Folding herself in half, she craned her head down to press an indulgent kiss onto his clammy forehead. It nearly brought tears to her eyes when her gesture was rewarded with an unconscious smile from Jamie, his lips tilting up in that sweet way he did in sleep. 

Claire passed the next while sending prayers up to heaven— for her daughter, grandchildren, the tenants, and of course, Jamie. Before long, she began to doze off herself, lulled to sleep by the rhythmic sound of Jamie’s breathing from her lap. 

She awoke some time during the night to find herself lying down fully on the bed. Jamie had her tucked against himself spoon-fashion, her back to his front, as he often did when they slept. He was clinging to her with incredible intensity, even in sleep. Some part of her sleepy brain likened the way Jamie clutched her to how Brianna used to sleep cradling her stuffed rabbit. Claire didn’t mind though, and shifted back even further to press herself against his overheated body. Her heart went out to him as she drifted back off to sleep. 

***   
3 days later

***

“Sassenach!” Jamie called, walking into the kitchen in search of his wife. His usual bounce had returned to his step, and he was grateful to find himself able to take those steps without being winded. Claire’s doctoring had done him good, and he was just about back to his normal self. 

His joy was cut off abruptly when he entered the kitchen to find his wife hunched over the counter, her head buried in one hand. 

“Claire?” 

She lifted her face to look at him, and he saw there were dark circles under her eyes, her face was incredibly pale, and there was a set of exhaustion apparent in the set of her body. Concern washed over Jamie in a wave, followed directly by guilt as realization hit him. 

“I got ye sick?” he asked, already knowing the answer. 

“Yes,” she answered wearily. She looked thoroughly miserable, his Sassenach. 

“Ach, I’m sorry, mo ghraidh,” he said earnestly, feeling nearly as miserable as she looked, “tis my fault.”

“It’s alright, Jamie,” she said, but her voice came out weak and unconvincing, “I knew this could happen, and I didn’t care.” 

Jamie could have melted into a puddle at her feet, overcome with gratitude as he was by the fact that his wife was the most selfless lass in the entire world. She had comforted him at his worst, held him close and loved him fiercely, and now she was paying the price herself with the suffering he’d passed onto her. 

“Well then," he said, "it seems it’s my turn tae doctor you.” 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> (Please no one make a joke about covid, it doesn't exist in Adso verse because this universe is for fluff and fluff only 😂)
> 
> As always, thank you SO very much for your love and support, it always means so much to hear my silly self-indulgent fluff resonates with someone outside my own brain!


	17. The Frasers Play Pretend

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Jamie and Claire get a little swept up in a public scene.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Inspired by the Scottish barbarian scene in season 2 as well as the season 5 walk in the woods... “my husband is as jealous as he is handsome.” You know the Frasers like a little pretend...
> 
> Also sorry for any typos, I'm really tired. 😂

Claire was enjoying a nice rest and mug of beer after a long, hot journey. The ride into New Bern to visit Fergus’ family had taken longer than expected, with multiple stops to try to placate moody Clarence, a broken wagon wheel, and a flooded path that diverted them a couple extra miles. Finally, they had made it to New Bern, and Jamie was arranging for a room above the tavern Claire was currently occupying (along with other weary, and mostly drunken, travelers). She could just sit in peace and—

Her peace was so rudely interrupted by a rather large man (not as large as Jamie, mind you, few men were), standing right in front of her so that his bulky frame blocked the light from the window. 

“What are ye doin’ all by yer lonesome, a bonny lass like yerself?” came the slur of the _very_ drunk man. 

“Enjoying a nice mug of beer in peace, thank you,” Claire replied curtly. She was hot and dirty and in no mood to be dealing with a piece of slime. She’d seen quite her fair share in Boston on those lonely nights when she’d go out to drown her sorrows in whiskey— well away from Frank— and she was rather frustrated, but not surprised, to find the exact same sort inhabited the 18th century as well as the 20th. So she knew the type well, but her whole body was grimy and sore, and she just wished Jamie were next to her— his demeanor and stature were wonderful deterrents to this kind of vermin. 

“Och, dinna be like that,” he said, plopping down heavily in the chair next to her. 

He leaned in close, giving Claire a far too personal experience of his foul-stench and rank breath. He smelled entirely of stale drink, manure, and days old sweat. She scrunched her nose and wondered to herself when the last time he’d washed might have been. 

“Sir, I will ask you politely one more time. Please leave,” she said firmly and evenly. She tried her best to put on her surgeon’s voice— all power and authoritative air that made the nurses jump to do her bidding. 

“And _I_ will ask one more time… why dinna ye let a weary traveler have a wee taste of ye?” To punctuate his statement (which Claire wasn’t entirely sure made sense) he stood up to his full height, looming over her with the intention of intimidation. 

With that, he reached out— lightning fast for someone so drunk— and seized her arm. He pulled her up toward him with startling force, so much so that she stumbled forward and nearly toppled into him. But she recovered just as quickly, taking a step back and jerking her arm free with an indignant huff. 

At least she’d intended to jerk her arm free. But instead of the satisfying feeling of regaining control of her limb, she was rewarded only with the tightening of his iron grip and his fingers digging into her skin hard enough to leave bruises that would bloom the next day. 

Claire was just rearing up to slap the man as hard as she possibly could when a familiar voice said in a surprisingly even but low tone: “I’ll thank ye to take yer hands off the lady.” 

She turned to see Jamie standing only a couple feet to her right, drawn up to his full height and face set in that hard expression that made her jaw twinge just looking at the clench of his teeth. An air of calm and composure seemed to radiate from him, but underneath it was simmering violence. His fiery hair glowed in the dim light, making him appear the picture of an avenging angel. Claire almost felt sorry for the bothersome brute currently holding her arm, because his hand only squeezed tighter at Jamie's words, and she could sense that he was in no mood to obey him. He was in for a very rough night. 

“Bugger off,” the man slurred, tugging Claire closer to him in a sort of possessive way, “find yer own lass fer the night. Dinna take mine.” 

“I am _not_ yours,” Claire snorted indignantly, “let me go.” 

She struggled half-heartedly at his hold again, and out of the corner of her eye, saw Jamie’s eyes blaze. A sick part of her was starting to enjoy it— imaging what would be in store for the slimy bastard in mere seconds. 

“Ye heard the lass,” Jamie said, “she doesna want ye. Now take yer hands off her before I _make ye.”_

The man laughed, a grating bleat that sounded rather like a dying animal. “This man thinks he can show ye a better time tonight, hen. But I promise, buggers like him are all talk. _I’ll_ show ye a real man.” 

Jamie was positively seething by this point. His mask was still held carefully in place and he remained motionless, but Claire knew him better than she knew the back of her hand. And at the moment, he was like a volcano mere seconds away from eruption. But he kept himself in check, and— much to Claire’s surprise— a glimmer of something almost… humorous? glinted in his eye. The man was no _real_ threat to either of them, not in his current condition, and both Jamie and Claire knew it. 

“Why dinna we let the lass choose, if yer so confident?” A hint of bravado crept into Jamie’s voice, and Claire suddenly caught on to what exactly was amusing him. 

_So it was like that, was it…_

_Seems they were in for a bit of theatre._

But the drunken man holding her was in no mood to play along (likely realizing that she would never choose an arrogant, foul-mouth, disrespectful weasel like him over the Adonis that was her husband— not that he knew that). 

“Like I said. I found her first. She’s mine," he slurred. 

Jamie seemed to suddenly swell, and the glint in his eye had turned to a full on smirk. 

“Lass,” Instead of dignifying the man with a response, Jamie turned to Claire with a swish of his coat. He offered a half-bow, raising up with a polite smile, “I’d challenge this man for a duel over ye, but I dinna think he has a penny to his name, let alone a sword.” 

“Ye interrupt my night, try to take this woman from me, _and_ insult me?” the man roared. 

He let go of Claire’s arm so suddenly that she nearly tipped off balance and fell. The next seconds seemed to go by slowly, but incredibly fast at the same time. Her unwanted companion raced toward Jamie, fists flailing rather comically in the air, and then with one swift jab to the face from Jamie, he was on the floor, moaning and clutching what was likely a very nasty broken nose. 

Jamie stepped over him as if he was nothing more than a discarded coat left on the floor. His eyes fixed on Claire the whole time, he walked slowly forward and swept her hand into his. Raising it to press his lips reverently to her knuckles for a long second, he said, “I’m sorry for this man’s behavior. James Fraser, at yer service, milady.” 

“I’m in your debt, Mr. Fraser,” Claire said with a curtsy, her lips quirking up at the corners in amusement, “whatever will I do to thank you for your kind intervention?” 

“Perhaps ye would allow me buy ye a drink?” 

“Certainly," she agreed with a demure smile. 

There must have been more than one spectator of the incident, perhaps the entire tavern had been watching, because at that moment, there was scattered applause. 

Something about the tavern patrons' approval of the rescue of a lass by a dashing stranger really wound Claire up, because she suddenly had a much better idea of how to repay Jamie— and she told him as much. 

“Actually, sir, I believe I have another way to thank you. Might I offer a kiss in exchange for your kindness?” 

Jamie’s grin widened, and his eyes sparkled with mischief. “I would like nothing better, madam.” 

He gave a polite bow, soaking up the moment in front of the audience as much as she was. When he straightened again, Claire stepped confidently forward and pressed her lips to his. 

She had meant it to be a chaste kiss— just a nice little ending to the scene, maybe garner them more applause— but Jamie had other ideas. The moment Claire’s lips touched his, Jamie’s arms looped around her waist and pulled her flush against him. He deepened the kiss, tilting her head backward with his arduous fervor, and she responded by eagerly winding her own arms around his neck and holding on for dear life as he kissed her breathless. His lips were insistent and hands even more so, and his public display of affection made her almost giddy. 

There were shocked gasps and appalled whispers from the crowd, and Claire felt Jamie’s smirk against her lips and his big hands smoothing down her back. 

It was that unfortunate moment when young Ian came stumbling into the tavern, breathless and panting, saying, “Auntie Claire, Uncle Jamie, did ye get us a room?” 

Jamie and Claire broke apart, and he released her from him in favor of winding a possessive arm around her waist as they faced Ian. 

“Great timing, lad,” Jamie muttered with a roll of his eyes. He was obviously annoyed by the untimely end to their little scene, but Claire couldn't stop the blush rising on her cheeks. 

The patrons seemed to have settled with this revelation that Jamie and Claire were, in fact, husband and wife, and resumed their drinking and conversations. As the tavern began to hum around them, Young Ian looked back and forth between them with wide brown eyes. 

“What did I miss?”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm not even kidding, sometimes I forget that people like these little stories. But then I post again after a while and get such generous and lovely reactions that inspire me to keep writing them. So thanks to everyone who was so very sweet with the last chapter, this random late-night update is for you all. Much love <3<3


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